Before The Devil Knows You're Dead
by mr. eames
Summary: In Nazi Germany Kyle Broflovski's family is forced into hiding in the attic of a prominent German family - the Cartman's. Is it possible for anything good to come out of the tragedy that surrounds them? AU. Cartman/Kyle. Complete.
1. Life

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: This story is an AU story based in Nazi Germany during World War II. I wrote this entire chapter and then checked to see if anyone had done it before. What about the worst thing ever? I realize someone has already done this sort of story, but mine is different. I only hope I do the idea justice. Also, a side note, the title is not in anyway implying this is at all like the movie of the same name. I just felt that the title suited the story really well. A lot of the beginning of this chapter is detail on what happened in the early years of Nazi Germany, it's a bit boring, but it will get better.

**Chapter One**: Life

I cannot stand to see my country like this. It is my country after all, even with Hitler ruling it, I am a German. I was raised here; I have lived here my entire life and developed some sense of nationalism over that time. That nationalism was struck down on January 30th, 1933 when Adolf Hitler was appointed to the position of Chancellor of Germany. The first few months of that year did not greatly affect my family because of our financial prominence, but I saw the atrocities inflicted upon other Jewish families and knew it would not be long before wealth was forgotten and only the hate that brooded in the Nazi party remained.

Fear became fact when Germany was proclaimed a one-party state under the National Socialist German Workers Party. The flag changed into an ominous anti-Semitic banner, proudly placed was the swastika, for all to see along with the old national flag that had been abandoned. The latter was to be done away with in 1935, leaving the swastika to rule over the country solely.

From then on it didn't matter whether or not your father was a lawyer or a baker. No longer did the size of your home play part in the size of the Nazis hearts towards your survival. In fact, it almost seemed as if they didn't care who you were. If you were Jewish, of color, had a disability, were homosexual or anything that displeased those of the Nazi persuasion, you were ruining the country. You were tainting what they deemed the Aryan race.

At the time I was young, only eight years old. Despite my parents attempts to convince themselves that I would not understand what was going on, I did. There was no way I could ignore the stares of classmates, or the treatment I received when someone found out I was Jewish. Of course, it didn't make sense to me. I knew I was being treated differently because I was Jewish, but I didn't understand why.

In all honesty, I still don't understand why.

I know why, theoretically, based upon what the Nazi parties believes. That somehow, and to this day I do not fully understand how, the Jewish people are trying to defeat the German Empire. Well, if we weren't before, we certainly are now. For whatever reason it has been assumed that we are a powerful enemy, and, like all enemies, we must be exterminated so that Aryan race can be preserved. It is a simple matter of survival. But what about us? Can we not survive parallel with their race? Are we not all, truly, one race, that of humans? I do not understand how things changed, as already stated I was too young at the time to fully grasp the events of the time. My younger brother, Isaac, was only three when Hitler came to power, and he now barely remembers what went on during the early years. He is smart now, smarter at eleven than I am at sixteen, but intelligence does not matter when the Star of David is on your chest. Ike, as my mother affectionately calls my brother, is in even more danger due to the fact that he is adopted from Poland. How is it that all that matters is that you are not Aryan, and all that means is that you are not important, and your only purpose is death?

Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer. That is the motto of Nazi Germany. The Jewish people are not a part of those one People and not accepted in that one Empire. Certainly, we have been damned by the one Leader. All that we can remember, according to mother, is that judgment will be handed to the men that kill us once they are the ones being killed. She says this so vehemently, I feel that I believe those words as much as she does. I will never understand why they are killing us. Because as far as I know we never had some master plan to bring down the German Empire.

Mother is greatly active in any resistance group she can find. Since we have moved from Berlin to Hannover things have not changed much. Here resistance is everywhere just like it was there, and so is death. The town did not see the damage Berlin saw on Kristallnacht. Furthermore, we moved here because of the expulsion of Polish-born Jews from Germany. Isaac was not likely to be found out, as he only lived in Poland for a few short weeks, but mother refused to risk him being expelled from the country. She is hell-bent on staying in Germany and reclaiming our rightful place as citizens. Father and her fight nearly every night about what could happen to her, to them and to all of us if they continue to stay active in the resistance. Father is only pulled into it by mother, I can tell that he would much rather leave for Switzerland or America, any place that is safe from persecution.

Many of the people in Hannover are kind, but an equal number are not. This is to be expected. When Isaac and I could attend school there was not a day where we wouldn't be stopped by some various Hitler Youth, or a member of the SS, sporting a swastika on their armband. We were known to be Jewish by many people, and when it became law to wear the Star of David, we were known by everyone. Anti-Semitism seems to have developed in everyone that was once civil to us. There are talks of new camps, unlike the old ones. Before they only took political prisoners, or at least that's what they told the citizens. After Kristallnacht they took Jewish people in droves to new concentration camps, but now they say that worse places are in use.

Call me selfish, but I don't understand why I have to live in such a time. Before they denied Jews access to public German schooling I had always been one of the brightest kids in the class. The same went for Isaac. Yet we were always dismissed, never praised for intelligence, simply because we were Jewish. It is an injustice to us, to all the Jewish people. My mother tells me I am too young to be involved in any of the resistance groups, but I believe that she is wrong. There is fear in her now, at the talks of the new camps, and as we watch other Jewish families being forcibly taken away she speaks of going into hiding. This has become a reality. In one week's time my entire family will be living in the attic of a house owned by an upstanding German family. One that, my mother says, the Nazis would never expect to be hiding Jews. The family is small, only a mother and a son who is about my age. I am terrified at the same time that I am enthralled.

I had always heard stories of Jewish families going into hiding, but I had never expected it to be my own.

* * *

Kyle Broflovski was shocked at the ease with which his family had gotten rid of most of their belongings. Much of it had been packed into boxes and thrown away, and most of what little they had left was already at the home they were moving to. His mother, Sheila and brother Isaac were already there. Kyle had been enlisted by his father, Gerald, to take the few remaining items with them. This included several photograph albums, a radio and his mother's jewelry box, empty but sentimental to her.

"Father?" Kyle said, quietly. He stood in the empty kitchen. The room looked like no one had ever lived in it. Unnerving, as his family had spent nearly three years using the place as an area to eat and converse. To have that atmosphere suddenly ripped away made it feel as if his family had never existed. Perhaps that was a good thing, and maybe that was exactly what the Gestapo would think, or whoever came to find their family.

"Yes, Kyle?" his father answered, walking into the room. Gerald Broflovski looked much older than he showed. His balding head was shiny and the hair he had left was graying. This, coupled with wrinkles and sheer stress made him appear several years older than his actual age. Slung over his arm was something like a briefcase that was nearly bursting at the seams. Years before it had been used when he held a job in the legal world, but now it just served as a memory.

"We're never going to see this place again, are we?" Kyle stated. His father's only answer was a small nod, accompanied by a sigh as he, too, surveyed the room. Times may never have been perfect in the house, but at least they hadn't been hiding at the time. Kyle fervently despised the idea of hiding away, but, like his mother, knew why it was necessary. "I suppose it's…really for the best interest of us all, isn't it, though?"

"That's really hard to say," Gerald answered, surprising Kyle. His father had always ardently supported going into hiding, stating that all he wanted was to have his family survive the genocide that was going on in the country. "I'm not sure if it is what is best for all of us, but it truly is the best we can do at a time like this."

* * *

Several blocks away was where they were to be hiding. The proximity of the two houses was astounding to Kyle. He had walked past the street without giving much care to it many times throughout his life in Hannover. The homes were alike to his own, although nicer and larger in scale. The neighborhood was predominantly a Nazi respected Christian area. Many Christian people protested Nazism throughout the Third Reich, but many also supported the cause. The two groups were often at odds with one another.

However this particular family was made up of a widow of a Nazi soldier and her son. Therefore her alliance with the Nazis was seen as set in stone. Kyle stood in surreal awe at the happenings that were engulfing him as his father led him to the back of the house, ushering his son along in worry of being caught. A back door was already open and the two entered the house with ease. "Sheila?" Gerald called tentatively. Once more they stood in a kitchen, this one glowing with family warmth.

"Oh, dear, you must be Gerald and Kyle." A woman stood at the table. She was setting down two plates with utensils and Kyle noticed that she was cooking something on the nearby stove. She wore an apron and her brown hair fell into apprehensive looking eyes. "I'm Liane Cartman. Your wife and other son are already upstairs. I'll-," she was cut off by the entrance of another boy who was, apparently, her son. Kyle's first impression was shock, as he was wearing a Hitler Youth uniform.

"Mother, I just heard-oh, it's more of them?" The boy's voice was nearly a whine and Kyle had the distinct feeling that he would love to slap him across the face, although he wasn't completely sure why. He saw that his father was also surprised by the clothing choice of the boy.

"Eric, be polite," Liane hissed at her son. "I'm sorry; Sheila also was taken aback by the Hitler Youth uniform. It's only to keep up looks. Every young German boy is nearly forced to join. If he didn't it would seem awfully suspicious, and we don't want that happening. I assure you there is no anti-Semitism here." She stressed the last three words strangely and sent a knowing glance to her son who only shrugged. "Eric, this is Mr. Broflovski and his son Kyle."

"Nice to meet you," Eric said, in a polite voice that sounded somewhat false to Kyle. There was even some hostility behind the words that was uncomforting to Kyle, and he couldn't help but wonder what Eric's views on Jewish people were, because he wasn't completely assured that they were the same as his mother's.

"You as well," Kyle mumbled back. His father had only nodded, and, Kyle noted, seemed to be thinking the same thing as he was.

"Well, Eric, would you show them up to the attic?" Liane said, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. She had returned to the stove now, and was stirring something in a pot. The smell of the food was delicious, but Kyle had the feeling that it was not going to be served to his family. "It's really not bad up there, there's a lot of room and, well, it's not a house or anything, but hopefully you can call it home someday."

The cheerfulness that his mother had was not exhibited in Eric as he led them up the stairs to the next floor. Second impressions of Eric were that he was rather large. Not fat, but bordering on chubby, saved only by the fact that most of his bulk was muscle. He was certainly larger than Kyle who was skinny and pale, with his red, curly hair. "We can't thank you enough for letting us stay here," Gerald said as they walked down the hallway of the second floor to another staircase.

For a moment Eric faltered, and then he nodded. "Well, my mother has been against the Nazis ever since my father died. I can't say I feel as opposed to them as she does, but I do believe what they do is wrong." The only thought that occurred to Kyle was that of how anyone could not be completely against the Nazis and the horrible things they did. Another flight of stairs was ascended in silence, until they reached a large wooden door. Eric pulled a brass key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock, then turned it, unlocking the door. As soon as the door was opened Gerald rushed inside to find his wife and Isaac, who were both fine.

This left Kyle and Eric alone for an awkward moment. "Uh, well, thank you, Eric, and tell your mother thanks as well," Kyle said, with a small blush rising on his cheeks. He never had been one for things like this, meeting new people.

"It's not a problem," Eric replied, although Kyle could tell from the infliction of his voice that he had a slight problem with the situation. "Everyone…they, well, no one calls me Eric except my mother. They all just call me Cartman, and you might want to do the same, Jew."

Infuriated for a brief moment, Kyle spat out, "Yeah, well, no one calls me Jew except racist Nazis who feel that Jewish people have no need for names." Once again he blushed, damning his temper. Sometimes his outspokenness burst out of his mouth without giving him a second to assess the situation and determine if he should really say what he was thinking. In fact, this happened more often than not.

Eric's eyes narrowed at him. "I'll call you what I want as long as I let you live in my house, Jew. Don't you forget that." It wasn't so much anger in his voice as resentment, and for a second Kyle was forced to see the situation through Eric's eyes. He had obviously grown up influenced by Nazi ideals, and so had been taught that Jewish people were below him. Of course, he probably saw Kyle's family as intruding in his own house.

Still, he lived with his mother who showed no signs of anti-Semitism. This wasn't to say he should be completely devoid of the trait, but shouldn't he at least be more tolerant? And the Broflovskis were only taking the attic. Kyle doubted Eric ever went up into the third floor, and he had the rest of the house to be content with. "Doesn't matter to me, Eric," Kyle shot back, and then entered into the attic slamming the door behind him. For a moment there was silence on the other side of the door, and then only the sound of someone locking the door and slowly retreating down the steps into the comfort of his own home.

**A/N**: I hope I did the idea some sort of justice. Obviously this is going to be Kyle/Cartman. I tried to get everything historically accurate, but sorry if I missed anything. I made Ike (Isaac) from Poland, because I felt it would add more to the story. Also, Stan and Kenny will probably make small appearances, just because I love them, if I continue this story, which I'll only do if I get a review or two, so please review, it makes my day!


	2. Photographs

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: Alright, so, I've got a rush of inspiration for this story, so quick updates, yeah? Yeah. Just a note, I wasn't going to include the quote from Hitler that I have below, but for some reason I was compelled to. I think it's truly shocking what Hitler believed he was doing that that he found morality in his acts, and the fact that he convinced people that he was right.  
**Disclaimer**: By the way, if you were thinking I was Matt or Trey, sorry, I'm not. D:

**Chapter Two**: Photographs

"_Didn't the world see, carried on right into the Middle Ages, the same old system of martyrs, tortures, faggots? Of old, it was in the name of Christianity. Today, it's in the name of Bolshevism. Yesterday, the instigator was Saul: the instigator today, Mardochai. Saul has changed into St. Paul, and Mardochai into Karl Marx. By exterminating this pest, we shall do humanity a service of which our soldiers can have no idea_.**"**

-- **Adolf Hitler, October 21, 1941**

There was a certain solitary feeling that encased the attic that first night. The attic really wasn't that bad, if only used as an attic. There was a small bathroom to the left when you first entered, which even had a bath in it, but it offered very little privacy and did not even have a mirror. Not that Kyle was generally worried about his appearance. It only served to remind him that this was not a place where a family was meant to live in.

As one walked further into the attic they dirscovered that is was quite large. There were two beds, next to each other on the right wall. Isaac sat on one of them, a book in front of them. He barely noticed as Kyle walked in, looking around. At this time, his father sat on the bed next to Isaac's and his mother stood at a window on the south side of the house. It was true that the attic was large and expansive, but Kyle felt that he could never call it home. There was a feeling of dispair that hung in the air, causing a pang of hopelessness to shadow the situation.

"Mother, are you alright?" Kyle asked. He seemed to speaking so softly these days. Walking softly as well. As he had crossed the attic to stand at his mother's side he had noticed this. It was almost like he was afraid the world was going to shatter underneath him. Any wrong move could cause everything to come toppling down upon him, and everything would be ruined.

"I'm fine, or I will be," Sheila Broflovski replied. Strength was obvious in the inflection of her voice, but Kyle could see the deterioration of his mother, physically. She had always been a large, boistorous woman, one whom you would expect to fight back. A woman to be feared. Now one look at her wouldn't cause much thought. Her appearance was that of a ghost of someone who had once been important. She was rather frail and tired looking. There was still a spark in her eyes, but it was somehow limited by the circumstances.

Kyle felt that he worried about his family too much. Hadn't he just been denouncing his brother as a real family member because Isaac was adopted? Wasn't it only days ago that he had been defying every word his mother and father said? Now he was an advocate to their cause. In times like these it wasn't prudent to fight against his parents, now he only had a will to survive. "It's not that bad, mother," Kyle assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You know we're much better off than most of the other families in Germany."

"I just feel so selfish, Kyle," his mother said. She talked just as quietly as he did, but for a different reason. Confined spaces did not make for private conversation, after all. Eavesdropping was imminent, even if by accident."If I didn't insist on staying here you would all be somewhere much safer. This isn't the best we could do. We could leave the country, but I'm being so selfish."

It pained Kyle to see his mother's face as she spoke. She wasn't able to hide her emotions any more. The concern on her face was outright and the guilt was shown easily as she cast her eyes downward. For whatever reason, her conscious was catching up with her. "You're not being selfish mother, don't say that," he said, trying to keep his voice positive. His mother nodded, and looked out the window once more, away from him.

Outside the sky was a bright, balmy blue. Sheila had pulled back the dark black curtains that were meant to cover every window of the attic. She let her arm fall, and consequently the curtain fell back down as well, casting the large room into a gloomy state once more. "Come with me, Kyle." His mother's voice was barely audible, and Kyle followed her as she led him to the very back of the attic. There was a small kitchen next to where his father lay on the bed, consisting only of an antique stove and small table with three chairs. On the left wall were several boxes of the Broflovski families belongings, and a few more that apparently belonged to the Cartmans. Then there were two bookcases, large and imposing full of like books that posed titles about Science and Religion alike.

Then, in the back of the attic there was what Kyle supposed was fashioned to be a small room. Someone, probably his mother, maybe with the help of Isaac, had hung a few sheets that could loosely be described as walls. Inside there was another bed and even a small, but nice, dresser where a few photographs of his family were placed, along with a copy of the Torah. Kyle realized what the room was and shook his head. "Oh, mother, no, you and father should have your own room, not me," he began to protest.

"You're a growing boy, Kyle," his mother said. For a moment her voice was passionate like it had always been before, and Kyle faltered, not wanting to argue when she spoke like that. "Your father and I want to be in the same room as Ike. And Ike himself may not admit it, but he probably wants the same thing. We may be trapped in this attic, but I won't deprive you of a normal childhood of staying away from your parents." Indifference was what Kyle should have been feeling, and he tried to mask his true emotions with a mask of uncaring, but he felt the tears welling in his eyes. "You know we love you Kyle, right?"

"I love you too, mom," Kyle said, speaking in a normal tone for the first time, almost surprising himself with the force of his words. Sheila smiled at him, lightly, and then left him alone in the makeshift room. For a moment Kyle just stood in the same spot, emotionally drained by the events of the day. Then he walked towards the small dresser and looked at the photographs. One of them depicticed Kyle at seven, holding the, then, two year old, Isaac in his arms. It had been the first time he had met his adopted brother. Now, there was a mask of indifference. At that age Kyle had pretended not to care much for his brother, but the two had developed an uncanny bond from the beginning.

Another photo was of the entire family, a portrait done in 1938, their last year in Berlin. Kyle remembered that night extremely well. It was the night that he had found out that his good friend Markus Engel's family had been taken to the Buchenwald labour camp. It was also that night that my mother and father began discussing our move to Hannover. Kyle would never call his family lucky, but luck was on their side then. They had moved in mid-October, mere weeks before Kristallnacht.

The last picture was the least professional of the bunch, but also boasted the nicest frame. It was also Kyle's favorite, although he hadn't even been alive when the picture had been taken. It was a wedding photograph, but not one of the professional ones that they had gotten rid of. It was a candid photo of Gerald and Sheila. It was apparently some time after the wedding, not during it, but nothing was really as important as the expressions on the two newlywed's faces. There was a sheer and strong love that was shared in the gaze that the two were casting upon each other. His mother was laughing as his father spoke, but their eyes were locked, and Kyle had always noticed this fact.

In an exhausted fit, Kyle collapsed onto the small bed that had been set up for him. He fell asleep in a matter of minutes, and if he dreamed he didn't remember it at all.

* * *

Morning almost always made Kyle forget where he was. For a second he was waking up in the same place he always had, his home in Hannover. The sounds were the same. His mother scolding Isaac for trying to sneak some food too early. While his father mumbled something in the background, turning the pages of some sort of paper. The smell of breakfast foods wafted through the air, but Kyle, as usual, just turned over in bed and yawned. A normal day.

Except a dresser was mere inches from his nose, and the sounds were louder, because the only walls he had were blue and white striped and faded sheets, hanging from a decrepit attic ceiling. The air was musky and slightly warm, due to the fact that it was the end of June, 1941. He was living in the attic of another family and had been doing so for several weeks now. Every day was the same monotonous thing.

Now that school was out though, a strange difference had occurred. One that surprised both of the people involved in it. Eric Cartman would, sometimes, come and visit the family. Kyle was under the distinct impression that Eric did not have many friends. He seemed to be hiding out in the attic as well, neglecting his Hitler Youth priorities, whatever those were. He somewhat tortured Kyle though, so maybe that could be counted as a service to Germany,

The first visit had been awkward and forced, somewhat, by Sheila. Eric had sworn to be just giving them some food. Kyle had been quite embarrassed, because he had been playing with Isaac when the other boy his age had entered the attic. There wasn't much else to do, and Kyle had settled on Isaac being his only companion. Really, it hadn't been so bad, but somehow that terrible flush had shown in his cheeks when Eric had seen him sitting on the floor, reading to his brother.

"Why thank you, Eric," Sheila had said, smiling at the boy as he handed her several bags full of food products. The entire situation had mortified Kyle. For some reason he didn't want Eric to know how he was living. That his entire family lived in one room and slept in one room. That his own room was just a tent of sheets. "Oh, Kyle, why don't you show Eric your room. I'm sure he'd love that." His mother made it sound like this was some prearranged play date.

"Mother..," Kyle said, forlornly. He had no idea what else to say, and besides he felt his throat grow dry in embarrassment as he saw how uncomfortable Eric looked as well. Parents had some sort of ability to do this to every person under the age of eighteen. It was truly bothersome. "Well, this is it," Kyle had said, begrudginly, blushing more from anger now, as he showed his room to Eric.

"It's not all that bad," Eric had said, althought his tone told Kyle that it was. "At least you aren't in a camp like the rest of your kind. I hear they're deporting the Kikes off in droves to be killed now." The words flowed out of Eric's mouth with such ease that Kyle once again was filled with the want to slap the other boy, this time to even beat him up at the racial slur he had uttered.

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say," Kyle had shot back. "You sit downstairs with your mother cooking you all the food you can eat, in your nice little uniform. You must have it real nice, huh? After all, you don't have to live every day of your life worrying that your entire family will be killed, do you?"

All of a sudden Eric was, as well, infuriated. "Actually yes I do. It's all your family's fault, Jew," he had countered with an accusatory pointing finger at Kyle. "Because my goddamned ignorant mother is too busy feeling bad for your kind, she's risking our lives. If the Nazis find out we're keeping you here they'll kill all of us. Your family and mine."

This statement had caused silence over the small room. Kyle's family apparently had not heard the exchange of words, they could be heard talking in the background, his mother laughing at something. "Oh," Kyle had said, softly, now understanding what Eric's position in the entirity of the situation was. He was just as scared as Kyle was, but he showed it in a different way. "Well, I'm sorry for that. Perhaps we can become friends?"

A stuttered laugh had come from Eric. "Friends with a Jew? I'll tolerate you, at best, but don't expect much more than that." Or maybe Eric Cartman was just a completely ignorant, racist person who Kyle would never get along with. This was the general impression that Kyle got from the other boy, but sometimes hints of Eric's other side allowed him to think a bit differently.

Days had gone by after that without Eric visiting again, and Kyle had fallen into a routine of ignoring Isaac as long as he could until his mother forced him to entertain his younger brother somehow. Deprived of school Isaac would ask Kyle to teach him anything he could, and they developed a system of somewhat playing school. It all felt childish to the sixteen year old boy, but there wasn't much else to do. Besides playing with his brother he found himself immersed in books that he pulled from the bookcases in the attic.

The second visit of Eric was suspected to be first day of his summer vacation by Kyle. Once again he came under cover of delivering food items, even though his mother, Liane, had been doing it for a bit of time. This time Kyle was reading when Eric came and didn't even notice he was there until Eric actually sat down on the bed next to him. It was a slight shock that wore off in a few seconds. "Hey, Jew," Eric said, in a light voice.

"Hello, Eric," Kyle had replied, not looking up from the pages of his book. Nothing possessed him to be angry this time. After all, he had never really been a proud person of the Jewish faith. In fact, in his earlier years he would call himself German before Jewish. Kyle was more of a defensive person. He believed in the Jewish faith because his family did, and that was a simple fact.

A few seconds passed and then Kyle looked up at Eric, only to find the other boy staring at him with a mixture of perplextion and a tinge of shock. "Not going to fight with me today then?" Eric had replied, tentatively.

"If you're looking for a fight, you're not getting one," Kyle said, although he was speaking through gritted teeth and could only bear to look at the words in the book, which were steadily becoming blurred and out of focus. In all actuality Kyle would love nothing more than to have given Eric a reason to fight with him, but he didn't imagine his parents would like to have that event happen.

"Well, damn, because that's the only reason I was here, after all, to fight with a Jew," Eric had said, seethingly. Kyle still forced himself to stare at the increasinly unreadable text in front of him. "I might as well just get going then. And don't expect me to come see your little kike family any time soon."

Eric was back the next day. This time he was met with Kyle and Isaac playing school. Once again, a thoroughly embarrassing situation. But Eric had merely sat a few feet away as Kyle began to show Isaac how to do basic algebra. Truthfully, his little brother could have probably learned the math on his own, but for some reason he clamored to be taught by his brother.

After about a half an hour Kyle had left Isaac to do some problems. Then he had gone and sat next to Eric. And they hadn't talked at all. Neither of them said a word. And, honestly, Kyle sometimes thought it was a lot better that way.

From then on Eric had come up to the attic almost every day. Sometimes he would only stay for about an hour, but some days he wouldn't leave until late at night. It wasn't exactly a friendship that he and Kyle developed. It was more of a strange relationship based on common circumstances and an intense dislike of the other's view on what was going on.

It wasn't until a few days before Eric's birthday, July first, that Kyle began to suspect the other boy didn't have much in the way of friends. "I'll be turning sixteen in three days," Eric pronounced, a look of delight passing over his face. "My mother is going to make me a cake and we're going to eat the entire thing."

"How nice," Kyle replied, as he turned a page in the book he was reading. He was almost used to Eric's gluttonous ways. Now that school was out Eric wasn't forced to take physical education and had relaxed into a lazy routine of pretending to take care of his Hitler Youth duties and hanging around the cool attic. Liane had lent them the use of the air conditioner now and later in the afternoon Sheila would turn it on and allow the attic air to be cooled. "Going to have a party or something?"

When Eric didn't reply for a few minutes Kyle glanced at him. Eric was staring at the sheets in front of him, a blank look on his face. Something told Kyle that he had tread into a sensitive issue with the other boy, but at the same time he didn't care greatly. His mind told him not to care, but his heart fought with him to show some inkling of concern. "No party," Eric stated, simply, his words forced out of his mouth.

"Yeah, well, I probably won't be having a party either," Kyle mumbled, not entirely meaning for Eric to hear him. Once again it was an instance where he was pretending to read his book, but was really just not sure where to focus his eyes in the small space that they shared.

"Your birthday isn't even until May," Eric said, surprising Kyle with the fact that he even remember when his birthday was. "I doubt you'll even still be living in my attic. By then your entire Jew family will probably be in some camp anyway." _Defense method, he's just putting up a wall_, Kyle told himself, biting his lip in anger at the statement Eric had just made.

"You never know," Kyle said, and with a sigh he closed the book and tossed it aside, leaning his head back against the cast-iron headboard of the bed. He sat cross-legged on the bed. His legs ached for movement, but there wasn't anywhere to go and pacing the attic was just as bad. Eric took up much of the end of the bed, which they had pushed up against the dresser so that he could lean against it. "We might live here until the day we die."

"In which case you still won't be here for your birthday," Eric said. And for a moment Kyle expected him to go into one of his rants about how Hitler would exterminate all the Jews soon. Talks of some great plan to get rid of them all were apparently floating around. This wasn't totally fact, considering that the only source of this news was Eric himself. Liane seemed, as always, to ignore the fact that a genocide was taking place. But instead of spouting the words of the Führer, he instead chose to swipe one of the photographs off of the dresser behind him. "These are your parents?"

Kyle looked to see Eric holding the wedding picture of his mother and father, and he nodded. "It was their wedding day," he said, softly. He had a devout emotional attachment to the photographs now. They were the first thing he saw every morning and the only thing that reminded him that his family had once been normal and functioning.

"Well they certainly did age, didn't they? When was this taken? The early eighteen hundreds?" Eric said, taking another look at the couple in black in white.

Furiously, Kyle grabbed the framed photo from Eric's hands. "Don't fucking talk about my parents, Eric," he said, keeping his voice low, but menacing. "I don't care if you want to insult me or make fun of me, but don't you dare say a word about my parents. Just keep your mouth shut and your thoughts about them to yourself, alright?"

"Well, Jesus, Kyle," Eric said. There was a slight awe in his voice, and it was the first time he had ever called Kyle by his actual name. For a few minutes they sat in silence while Kyle clutched the picture to his chest, staring at the mattress in unbridled anger. Eric seemed more shocked than scared of the new development, and was the first to speak again. "I'm, uh, well, sorry. It was only a joke, you know. You Jews are all alike, just like they said. You all stick together and defend one another. You really don't care about the German Empire at all, do you?"

"Why, in God's name, would anyone care about a government that is out to exterminate you and your family?" Kyle retorted, not looking up from the mattress. "How could anyone even come to the conclusion that we would hold any loyalty to a Leader who damns us to Hell?" Every word he spoke was seething with anger that he had been holding inside since he had learned what was going on in Germany. He placed the wedding picture back onto the dresser, in a need of something to do with the energy that was building up inside of him. Much of the emotion was not completely directed towards Eric, but was being taken out on him regardless.

"Well, you know, my Hitler Youth leader, Koehler, he tells us that the Jews have been against the Empire since the beginning, Even before Hitler became Chancellor. He says that the only reason this hasn't happened before was because no one was smart enough to realize it. But now that Hitler-," Eric's words were cut off by Kyle finally turning thought into action.

The slap that Kyle dealt Eric hit him hard on the cheek. "Get the fuck out of here, Eric, just get the fuck out," Kyle said, unable, now, to control the volume of his voice. "Don't tell me that you actually believe that shit. You can't actually believe what they're telling you!"

"Well, yeah, I sort of do," Eric said back. Their voices had escalated into near yelling. Eric's hand was clutching the cheek that Kyle had just slapped, and now he was standing up off of the bed, his face bright red as he spoke. "Hanging around you all day how could I believe anything else? You people are all against the Third Reich. You're responsible for the fall of our Empire."

"Boys, what is going on?" Gerald was peering into the room, but went ignored.

"Then why the hell are you still in here?" Kyle spat back, truly yelling now. "Watch out I might give you some goddamn Jewish disease. Not like you would have anyone to spread it to besides your mother, anyway!"

"So it's alright to talk about my mother?" Eric yelled. Now he lunged at Kyle, and the two were in a frenzied fight, throwing punches and tearing at whatever they could. They tore down the sheets that created the small room and it wasn't until they knocked into the dresser that Kyle panicked. All three of the photographs fell down and there was the sound of glass breaking.

"Fuck! No!" Kyle scrambled away from Eric and found the photos on the ground. Two of them weren't so bad off, the glass had cracked on the picture of him and Isaac and there was no damage to the family portrait. But his mother and father's wedding photo was covered in shards of glass. He felt like a child as tears formed in his eyes and he closed his eyes tightly, willing them away.

"Eric, I think it's best you leave now," Gerald said, lightly. Always the peace-maker, a good talker and negotiator. Kyle didn't turn around to see what was going on, and blocked out the rest of the conversation that went on between his father and Eric.

"Kyle, I'm…sorry about what I said." Eric was standing right behind him then, Kyle knew. But he didn't respond, only stayed, kneeling in the corner of glass ruins, much like his life now, which was only made up of broken memories.

**A/N**: I kind of knew what was going to happen in this chapter before I wrote it. I've been doing this thing when I choose a random, broad word to title a chapter and then go off on whatever tangents I can. So 'Photographs' was chosen for no real reason, and here you are. Oh, and, sue me. Honestly, if anyone tells me that what happened in this chapter never would have happened in real life, just go ahead and sue me. I mean, I'm not entirely sure if Eric would have been allowed to go visit the family at all, but I don't doubt that it could have happened. Anyway, reviews are loved.


	3. Time

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: So I decided to focus this chapter on Cartman's birthday. I just felt it would be a good point to base the chapter on. It took me way too long to write this chapter, I mean, it was practically written for me. I hope it's alright.

**Chapter Three**: Time

"_Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived_.**"**

**--****Jean-Luc Picard**

One day felt like a year. A cold, harsh year that did not provide any prosperity for the world. A long year that refused to die, that hung onto the fragile threads of life not because of hope, but because of vengeance. Behind closed doors, a minute was a second, and an hour was a day. In enclosed spaces, nothing could be kept a secret for long. It was only a matter of man-made time.

For a few short days, Kyle got a taste of the privacy he so sorely missed. These days were only short because they were slightly more enjoyable than the other time he had spent in the attic. Three days went past and Kyle's days melded together into a simple routine. He would wake up, and waste an hour or so lying in bed. Was it really wasted? There wasn't much that was prudent to be done after all. Regardless, after some time past he would find the energy to get up and then slouch out into the kitchen area, and take whatever his mother had made for breakfast. Almost everything was made out of potatoes, which didn't do much for his appetite.

Parents were generally supposed to talk to their children in a situation like this. But no one was really talking. Not even Isaac. Before, when Kyle had stayed in his room, burying his face in some book or his mind in some thought, the background was filled with noise from his family. Not very loud, of course, they never could be very loud. But now there was nothing. Save for the stray cough or turn of a page, perhaps a sniffle from Isaac who was somehow sick. The attic was completely silent, and it was all because of Eric.

After Gerald had let Eric leave the attic he had tried to talk to Kyle. But for some reason Kyle couldn't find it in him to speak. Something just wouldn't let his voice escape his throat, though there were things he wanted to say. His father had cleaned up the glass and the photograph had been put into one of their albums, which was now underneath Kyle's pillow. His mind wouldn't be quiet, but his voice wouldn't work. How cruel these paradoxes of nature could be. The entire family seemed to be affected by his mood, all keeping as quiet as possible from that point on. Speaking only when nessacery, but Kyle didn't speak at all.

On July first Kyle did not get out of bed. He was awake, though, when Liane came up to the attic with food and news. Silently, Kyle had listened as she spoke. He was curled up under the shabby cover of the old woolen blanket he used, his neck hurting from the bad state of the pillow he was using and the fact that the photo album was underneath it.

"You know I'm still sorry about what Eric said a few days ago. I've been trying to get him to come up here and apologize, but he simply refuses. I'm just no good at saying no to him." Liane's voice was slightly muffled, but Kyle still understood what she said. He could imagine Eric refusing to visit the attic once again, and imagined he must be doing nothing as well.

"It's not your fault, Liane. I'm sure he'll apologize soon. Kyle hasn't been doing anything at all the last few days. He won't even talk to us." And, Kyle decided, he didn't care if Eric wasn't doing anything. They might as well suffer the same fate. Karma could be nasty sometimes, he reasoned, and Eric was just getting a full dose. "Isn't today Eric's birthday?" At this, Kyle just furrowed his brow. If there was one good thing about this, at least it meant he wouldn't have to listen to Eric gloat about the cake and presents he got.

"Well, yes, and that's also why I wanted to talk to you." For some reason Liane's voice had risen in pitch, and she sounded decidedly more optimistic at this point. "Eric's invited over some friends to the house." _Friends? He doesn't have any friends, _Kyle thought, bitterly. "The problem is they're both in the Hitler Youth." This was said quietly, and there was a short pause during which you could have heard a pin drop. Things were back to normal in the attic. "They're perfectly nice boys, neither of them are too into the whole thing. But just to be safe we're going to cover up the door so they don't see it, and I have to ask that you're quiet while they're here, although noise hasn't been a probably recently."

Kyle was still marvelling at the fact that someone had agreed to come over to the Cartman house, knowing full well who they were going to be around. Something about that was shocking to him. "Well, it's your house Liane, we're just lucky enough to have you let us stay here," Sheila said, speaking for the first time. "But, Hitler Youth boys? You're sure they won't…we won't be found out, will we?" The amount of fear in her voice was evident, and Kyle sat up in bed a little, listening more intently now.

"No, no, Mrs. Broflovski," Liane said, her voice sweet with the decoration of assurance. "Both the boys come from families in the neighborhood, well respected in the community, and not nearly as Anti-Semetic as many of the other people around. Well, the Marsh family at least. I don't know about the McCormick's. But I promise you, they won't even know you're here."

Once again there was a pause, a lapse in what could be construed as friendly conversation if they listened to only Ms. Cartman's tone of voice. But, in the end, she was the family's savior, and so they had no choice in the matter. "How are we going to hide the door then," Gerald said, resignedly. The plan was to simply take one of the large bookcases apart and then reconstruct it on the landing that connected the stairs to the attic. Furthermore, Gerald provided insight, they should probably put some chair and maybe even a standing light fixture nearby, so that it looked less conspicuous and more like a small reading alcove.

All Kyle could think about was the fact that, if Eric did have any friends, they would be stupid enough to not think anything of a staircase that led only to a bookcase, sitting alone. And, what's more, if they were anything like Eric – meaning racist Nazis – they would report the Cartman family if they found out that the Broflovskis were in the attic. What's frienship when you could get honors from the Nazis? Angrily, Kyle reached under his pillow and grabbed the photo album. The last page held the wedding photo which he took, and then he chucked the album at the floor. It skidded under the sheet-made wall and thudded against something out in the other room.

"Kyle?" he heard his mother say, quietly. But he didn't respond, only turned over in bed to face his dresser and then, wedding photograph in hand, closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall back asleep. For some reason, this day felt unsettling to him and he didn't want to spend much of it awake.

* * *

It was still July first. Kyle was sure of that much when he woke up. Although the attic was cast in darkness and his family was sleeping, he knew it was not past the midnight mark. It was one of those things that you didn't want to know, but that insisted on being known in your mind. A nagging voice that refused to be wrong told him so. Though he didn't understand why it bothered him so much. He desperately wanted the day to end, and for a new one to start.

He found himself in the bathroom. Isaac had, sometime last week, found an actual mirror in one of the boxes and managed to hang it up on one of the walls. Kyle had never been entirely obsessed with his appearance, but he was staring into the reflective surface now, his hand touching his pale cheek. In the few weeks he had been in the attic, he had gotten drastically whiter, not that he had ever been tan. Now he looked something of a ghost. Luckily, he hadn't lost as much weight as his sickly brother had, but it was only a matter of time before he got sick as well. His red hair was rather limp and the thick curls hung down just to his shoulders, messily falling in front of his green eyes.

In all honesty, Kyle wasn't sure why his looks were bothering him so much. Strike that. He knew why, but he didn't. It was one of those thoughts that was so close, you almost knew what it was, but every time you tried to dicipher what your mind was trying to convey, it got lost in translation. For a moment he had it as he leaned forward, examining his jaw line, drawing two fingers along the startlingly portruding bone. Then it was gone, completely, and he was just a boy overcome by sick vanity to curious eyes. So for a moment he stood there, no thoughts in his mind, a complete void. And then, there was a noise. It wasn't very loud, but it was there, and it was coming from the door.

For one terrible and heart-stopping moment Kyle was convinced it was Nazis, ready to burst into the attic and steal his whole family away. His entire body was rushed with a cold feeling and he froze, staring at him self in the mirror. When he realized that no one was rushing to drag them off to a camp, he calmed down, but only slightly. They could just be placing dynamite after all.

Praying was not normally something Kyle did, but he was doing it now. Though he doubted there was anyone with a swastika-clad uniform outside the door, his mind was filled with pleading to God that it was nothing, that he was just making up the noise. When he reached the door he realized he wasn't sure what to do. After all, he didn't know who was behind the door, if anyone. If it was Eric's friends, opening the door could be detrimental. But it might just be Liane. Then, he chided himself, remembering that even if he did open the door all he would find was the back of the bookcase.

Flinging the door open, defiantly, he expected to be staring at a virtual barrier between him and the rest of the house. Instead he was met by the bookcase being pushed away from the doorway and Eric Cartman pushing it. And suddenly he found it within him to speak. "What the hell are you doing?" he said. His voice sounded odd, even to himself, having not been in use for days.

The anger that was building in his chest slowly dissapated when Eric looked at him and spoke. "I don't know." Kyle had never seen Eric show any great amount of emotion with the exception of anger. Here, he stood, looking completely drained and utterly upset, his voice revealing even more with it's hurt tone. "I have no idea what I'm doing." And once again, that thought, just out of reach, planted itself in Kyle's mind, frustrating him as he struggled with the war going on inside of him.

On one hand he disliked Eric with a strong and strange passion, having only known him for almost a month now. He had every reason to dislike him, every reason to hate him, even. On the other hand, he was a sympathetic person, even towards people he wasn't that close to. And, there was no denying this fact, Eric was the only friend he had had in a long time. Ever since he had been forced to leave school he hadn't seen any of his old friends, and even during school he had not had many of them. It was a forced friendship, but it existed nonetheless.

There he stood, at odds with himself, not quite sure what to do. He could either let Eric in, consequently risking his family waking up. Or he could venture out of the attic and risk…his life? Surprisingly it still was a hard choice, and he decided to respond quietly instead if deciding what to do. "Are you okay, Eric?" The concern in his voice made himself wince slightly; he needed to learn how to hide those sorts of feelings.

Someone was lending him a helping hand, because Eric literally pulled him onto the landing and Kyle's reaction was to shut the attic door behind him. It felt extremely dangerous to sit next to Eric now, in the corner beside the bookcase. "I guess so," Eric said, sounding a bit more normal now, although Kyle suspected that was just a façade, and then began to wonder if that's what Eric's entire personality was. Some giant charade he was playing with humanity. "It's just…my friends. They kind of bitch at me, I guess."

"Your friends?" Kyle said. Then he blushed, realizing how incredulous his voice sounded. For obvious reasons he was still somewhat confused about how anyone could be friends with Eric if they weren't forced to be. Then again, he could see how someone in the Hitler Youth would find some redeeming qualities in the boy. Namely, his use of the words 'Jew' and 'kike' in excess.

Narrowing his eyes Eric replied, "Yeah, my friends. They kind of…well, my mother says boys do it all the time. But they make fun of me a lot," he said, slowly, as if weighing the importance of every word. Something about the sound of his voice was false and Kyle realized he was seeing Eric at a very vulnerable moment, and that, for a reason he didn't know, Eric had chosen to trust him with that.

"I guess that's true," Kyle said, softly. "I mean, you do make fun of me, don't you?" Eric nodded in response. Neither one of them may have realized it, but this simple exchange cemented their friendship in each other's minds. They silently took this in and it was a few minutes before Kyle spoke again. "Why do they make fun of you?" Part of him regretted the question the instant he said it, but most of him did not.

"Well in case you didn't notice, Jew, I'm not the skinniest person in the entire world," Eric said, and although the words were angry, his tone was not. He wasn't even looking at Kyle now, and Kyle wasn't sure what to say. "I mean, I'm sure you noticed that right? Imposing my fat ass on your kike family all the time, right?" The question should have been sarcastic and rhetorical, but Eric wanted a real answer.

"No," Kyle said. "I wouldn't say that at all. At least you don't look like a skeleton." He offered his bare arm out into the moonlight that was coming through the small window on the landing. It was the first natural light Kyle had seen in weeks, but he wasn't paying attention to that. Eric sniffled lightly, and kept his eyes on Kyle's arm as he continued to speak. "And, really, if they say stuff like that often they're not really your friend."

"So if I call you…just Jew all the time, does that mean I'm not really your friend?" Eric said, and Kyle was perplexed by the question, wondering why such a thing would matter to him at all.

"Well, no, it really doesn't," he offered. "That's different. It bothers me, sure, but I guess I can't blame you. And when I call you Eric it doesn't make us any less of friends, either. It's just what it is." It was then that Kyle realized it was July second, and only because Eric wore a watched that marked the time at five minutes past midnight. It was no longer Eric's birthday.

"But, if I maybe, called you Kyle sometimes, that would be alright too?" Eric asked.

"Well it might be kind of weird, I'd have to get used to it, but of course that would be fine," Kyle replied.

"So you don't think I'm like, fat or anything, right?" Eric said grudgingly after a second.

Kyle looked at Eric for a moment. Truthfully, he couldn't answer a complete yes to that question. No one could. Not even his mother. Eric was large, and probably always would be. It wasn't a complete case of obesity, and there was a fair amount of muscle on his body, but he wasn't anywhere near skinny. It was kind of…cute. And Kyle's eyes were lingering too long. He looked away, now choosing to focus on the moonlight. "I'm pretty sure everyone looks fat compared to me," he said, knowing that, at least, was totally truthful.

"Ay! That's not what I asked," Eric said, angrily, but it only caused Kyle to laugh at the serious look on the other boy's face. And he found that he couldn't stop laughing, because it had been all too long since he had even smiled. "What the hell are you laughing at, you fucking…-" Eric's words stopped as he, himself, was forced to grin.

"Sorry, really, just you said that so angrily, Eric," Kyle said, smiling at him. It felt so genuine that he nearly wanted tot stop the moment and rip it into pieces, because he was sure he was just dreaming and this was some deranged scenario his mind had decided would happen for a fleeting moment. "And, to be honest, I don't really give a fuck if you're fat or not."

Eric took this in stride, returning to his normality of uncaring. But something in the way that he averted his eyes told Kyle that he did care. "So, you know, my friend Kenneth is dating some Jewish girl. He can't tell his family or anything. They're tolerant, but they're not my mom," Eric said. For a moment Kyle wasn't sure how to respond to Eric telling him something about his other friends.

"That's really cool though," Kyle said, somewhat letting his excitement show. "Is she hiding out too, or something? That would be pretty romantic." Torrents of words poured out of his mouth in an embarrassing waterfall that easily displayed his overly emotional side.

"Jesus, you sound just like Stan," Eric said, moodily, although the corners of his mouth were hinting at a smile. "Talking about all sorts of faggy shit like that. She's living with another German family, pretending to be their daughter. Their own daughter died a few months ago, and she has blonde hair and looks somewhat like the family. Her own family is in some camp." Kyle opened his mouth to remark on this, but was cut off. "I know, I know, it's really sweet because Kenneth is all she has left in the world. Stan said the same thing."

"So who is this Stan?" Kyle said, with a smile. "We seem to agree on a lot more than you and I do, at least. I bet we'd get along."

"I sure as hell hope you're not a Jew and a fag," Eric said harshly. "Then you're just twice as worse as you were before when you were just a kike. They would kill you on the spot if they knew."

"I'm not gay," Kyle said firmly; although he wasn't quite sure about that being complete fact. He never brought it up, considering the fact that it didn't matter when you were in an attic and it would only make things worse on his family. Despite their positive views on them surviving the genocide Kyle didn't want to give them more reason to worry. It just didn't seem important to think about at a time like this.

"Well alright, get that tattooed along with your number when they put you in the camp then," Eric said with a shrug. Once again Kyle relapsed into realizing what kind of person the boy he was sitting next to was. That he was nothing more than an intolerant Nazi with no ambition to do his job. "You just cannot take a joke can you?"

"I can't take derogatory remarks about my religion, you're right, how stupid of me," Kyle said sarcastically, leaning slightly away from Eric as he spoke. "Just like some people I know are sensitive about people commenting on their weight, I happen to be sensitive about others saying things about my belief system. And, you know, killing me because of it. But that's just me."

Moments of silence seemed to be common in this friendship. It was nearly twelve thirty according Eric's watch and despite that fact that Kyle was not tired at all, Eric looked exhausted. "Okay, fine, sorry," he mumbled, look exasperated. Then a shadow of realization passed over his face. "And I'm really sorry about what happened a few days ago. I didn't really mean what I said. I mean, I know I say shit about you being Jewish all the time, but it's really all just…I don't mean it seriously like it seemed I did then is all. Alright?"

"Yeah, it's alright," Kyle said. It was as if someone had flipped some sort of switch. His voice sounded abruptly more normal now, back to how it usually was, and he realized that he had been waiting to hear Eric's apology the entire time. It was a bit embarrassing how fast he accepted the words and then he blushed, and there was no use hiding it. "Sorry for whatever I said too, it was partly my fault as well."

Eric had noticed the blush; he could tell by the way the other boy was looking at him, somewhat confused. "Don't worry about it," he said, while surveying Kyle's face. It really was awkward, and Kyle looked away, down at the wooden floorboards, where he noticed a spider crawling. He inched away from it slightly, and watched as it began to crawl up the wall and disappeared into a shadowy corner to begin making its web. For some reason it made Kyle think of his own family. Small and insignificant, hiding away in the shadows until night,

A disheartening thought entered his mind as he was reminded that spiders rarely lived for a long time. They were killed by people, who carelessly stepped on them in their haste to get rid of a wretched creature. "Are you alright, Kyle?" Eric's question startled him out of his daze and he looked at Eric, who had a look of unconcealed unease at Kyle's state on his face. It almost shocked Kyle.

"Not really," Kyle admitted, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "I don't know how good I can be when this is my first time actually being outside of the attic in weeks. If it wasn't for you I probably would have went months without coming out here. I guess you kind of take this sort of shit for granted, you know, like, staircases." He laughed falteringly at his attempt to turn the situation into a laughing matter.

"Shit, man, should you even be out here?" Eric said unexpectedly grabbing Kyle's arm. The touch was brief and seemingly unimportant, but both of them turned red and Eric quickly let go of his arm, continuing "I didn't even think of that. It's not good for a Jew to be out of his attic after all."

"Haha," Kyle said sarcastically, standing up as Eric did the same thing. "Yeah, I probably should go back inside and you should probably go back to your friends." Silence was to their friendship as Jesus was to Jews. Not entirely unimportant, always there and somewhat discomforting. "Oh and, happy birthday, Cartman."

Eric gave a short laugh. "I don't think I like when you call me that, Kyle," he admitted. "I'll see you later then?" Kyle nodded and then opened the door to the attic, and closed it, almost sure that would be the last time he would do so. He could hear Eric moving the bookcase back in front of the door and waiting until he was sure that Eric was done, then walked silently back to his bed. He lay in bed for hours, fighting a hopeless war with his tired body.

When he did fall asleep he dreamed he was a spider, crawling up huge flight of stairs. And when he finally reached the top it was Eric Cartman who crushed him, as he always knew it would be.

**A/N**: I threw in an 'Ay!' just to satisfy my need to keep Cartman in character. Not going to lie, I think he's in character; it's just a side we don't see of him. And don't misjudge the fact that Kyle didn't pounce on the fact that Cartman hates to be called fat. It's all about knowing someone's weakness, after all. So suck on that, kids. And yes, Kenneth. ;D Also, I love when people put my story on alerts and favorites, but I always appreciate reviews more. Either way it's appreciated, so thank you to everyone who has done any of those for this story. Reviews make my day!


	4. Sickness

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: Sorry in advance for this chapter. You'll see why I say that. Make sure to read the note at the bottom, even though it's long, it's important or something like that.  
**Disclaimer**: Still not Matt and Trey. Aww.

**Chapter Four**: Sickness

"_You can try to kill me a million times more but you cannot kill soul. Truth was, is, and will always be. You have beaten me, broken my neck, knocked my teeth out. You've drugged me for years, dragging me up and down prison hallways, laying my head on every chopping block you've got in this state, chained me, burnt me, but you cannot defeat me. All you can do is destroy yourselves with your own judgments_.**"**

--**Charles Manson**

Once more he sat staring into the mirror, but now it was in his small little room. And he had stolen it because it was the last thing _he _had touched before they had lost _him_. The last thing he had seen _him _touch anyway. And when he turned over in the bed it was _his _face staring back at him. Then, one blink, two, and it was his own, red and blurry eyes, tear stained face, purple rings around his eyes because he just couldn't sleep, not anymore. A nameless grave wasn't proper. A burial without a ceremony didn't give _him _the respect it should. Things weren't making sense.

When had they ever?

* * *

"Cartman, fuck, you don't need to be teaching him about that," Kyle said, distraught. It was sometimes like he was taking care of two children now. While his parents talked quietly in the corner he was instructed to play with Isaac, who's only instinct was to gather some books and beg to be taught. Whenever Eric visited he would now ask to be taught by the other boy, and Eric took full advantage of it, like the power was full leverage to instill whatever he wanted into the eleven-year old's mind.

"Well I was only telling him what a circumscision was since he's had one. He kind of has the right to know," Eric responded, insolently. "As a Jew, he just has the natural-born right."

"Yeah, as a Jew, Kyle," Isaac said, grinning at his brother. Kyle hated to look at his brother's face anymore. The skin was only a mask for the skull that lay right underneath. Whatever Isaac ate was only to be emptied by his stomach hours later, the nutrients never quite reaching his system. He seemed to constantly have a cough and yet, somehow, the rest of the family was not nearly as sick. Isaac was going on two weeks of sickness, it now being July twelfth. Kyle had briefly caught the sickness, for a few days last week, but nothing severe. His mother was perpetually sick, always at some low level that didn't affect her much, and his father was starting to get a fever.

"Ike, it's time for a nap," Sheila called from the corner in an inviting voice. Kyle watched his brother's cheeks flush, the red startling against his pale skin. But Isaac only shrugged and went to his mother, falling into her outstretched arms. He acted more like a child now, and couldn't sleep without her. It was about four in the afternoon, and that meant it was about time that he and Cartman retreated to his room that was really just a drunken man's take on 'home.'

"You aren't really mad at me for telling Ike all that, are you?" Eric asked, as he settled onto the bed. Kyle sat on the floor underneath the useless window, sitting on the pillows that were better, but not by much, than the bare wooden floor. "I really doubt he understood what I was talking about either, and neither do I. Your father doesn't explain stuff very well, I had to improvise."

"Well you certainly are good at it," Kyle said hiding the grin on his face with the book he was reading. Hours devoted to reading and still Descartes wasn't making much sense to him. The words were a blockade between him and his feelings about the other boy. The truth was, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about Eric – Cartman – Eric? He switched inbetween names now, Eric when he was thinking – Cartman when he wasn't. And he knew why that was.

But he didn't. Nagging little thoughts in the back of his mind that were covered by clearer ones. Almost in reach now, they were always closer when he was alone with Eric and he had a feeling that was the key to it all, but he was so damn naïve. He knew that was why, his naivity, but he didn't understand _why _that was _why_. The underlying meanings were escaping him. "So how are things going with the Other Two?" Kyle asked, glancing up from his book, eyebrows raised.

The Other Two, to be exact, Stan and Kenneth, were referred to as such because they seemed almost like a fairy tale to Kyle. Reality to him was the attic now, hiw family. Visits from the Outside came in the form of mostly Cartman now, sometimes Liane when he was too busy to come upstairs. Since the conversation in the moonlight at the beginning of July Eric was back to his old self, and the event was not mentioned. Ratial slurs were common, and Kyle's lips were getting a beating because he had to bite back his anger every time he heard them. Sometimes his temper got the best of them.

Alright, it usually got the best of him. But he was getting better, much to Eric's annoyance. The other boy seemed to love seeing the Jewish one get angry, and provoked him into such a mood seemingly just for a good laugh at times. As Kyle had offered a few days ago and Eric had non-commitedly agreed to, the two had the most screwed up relationship in the world.

"Well what about you and Jesus?" Eric had pointed out.

"I don't believe in Jesus," Kyle replied blandly, looking at him in disbelief.

"I know, that's why it's so messed up. We may be weird, but hey, you believe in me, right?" And he almost would have made a good point if Kyle hadn't been reading Descartes. Now he was staying up until all hours of the night wondering if anything actually existed. Maybe this was some messed up dream in someone's head. Perhaps his entire life was just being played out for the amusement of others, some sort of tragedy radio show.

Now was just about the time of day that he tortured himself with listening to talk about the Other Two. "Kenneth's got it bad for that girl. He's all talking about eloping with her. And I'm just like 'You're only fifteen, you stupid fuck, and you don't have any money?' His family is beyond poor, there's no way he can leave the country. And Stan is just Stan. All he talks about it going to Berlin and trying to join the resistance groups, and I've told him a million times they only take kikes, but he never listens, just does what he thinks he should. Never listens."

"Well, God, it's not like you do that or anything," Kyle commented, sardonically, returning to the words on the page he had previously been reading. Hiding once again behind his allegories and metaphors, much more comfortable than facing life, after all.

"And neither do you, right?" So which really was worse? Kyle had to debate this constantly. Some sort of battle between two evils. Being Reminded How They Were Alike Vs. Being Called A Kike. Sometimes he really did think that he and Eric were a lot alike. Both of them had tempers that could be set off in an instant, although they could both admit that Kyle had more restraint. They also were both much too proud for their own good, never able to admit when they were wrong, or almost never. Despite the fact that they disagreed about so many issues, they handled their argument in the same way. It was like looking in the mirror only to find your complete opposite staring right back at you.

"Anyway, point is, the Other Two are just being damn annoying," Cartman continued. "I mean, you'd think I was hanging out with two of the biggest faggots in the universe. If Kenneth wasn't dating a girl, I swear…"

"Is it entirely weird that I dislike the use of that word more than you putting down Jews?" Kyle asked, shrinking down into his book as he said each word. He wondered if anyone else hide behind the words of philosophers like he did? He doubted anyone else did it as well as he could. He had so much practice, after all.

"What…faggot?" And Kyle just nodded. "Well it's not entirely weird, it's just…if you were gay or something I'd understand it better." Meaning, of course, that he would understand why it bothered Kyle and say it more because of that fact. Who knew if he would even visit anymore. No, Kyle decided, it was still not time to think about such things. After all, what did sexuality matter when your heart was just bones like the rest of you?

"Yeah, I know what you're saying." He really wished he hadn't brought up the subject at all. Regret seemed to be an easy issue to bring up when you only talked to four other people on a daily basis.

"Well, you're not are you?"

"No!"

"Alright, just asking."

And just like they lapsed into a quiet state which was only interluded upon by Kyle turning a page in his book now and then, and the creaking of the bed as Eric moved around, settling comfortably only to sigh and move again. Sometimes they just sat in complete silence like this. It wasn't so bad, not exchanging words. It might have even been better than the alternative of forced conversation. The only downside was how much Kyle had to think to make up for the lack of words in the atmosphere.

Today it was why he had denied the accusation in such a forceful way. Why couldn't he have been more nonchalant about it? Just said no, and moved on to another subject, leaving that one behind. Yet maybe he was supposed to be thinking about this, maybe it really _was _time to confront this sort of thing. Was there going to be any better time? And then he took a curious glance up at Cartman, for no reason besides the fact that something told him to.

It was true that Eric was not the most attractive of the human species. His hair was always messy, he was always in some state of undress, his tie never fully done, and wrinkles ever present in his clothing articles. That was the thing that perplexed Kyle the most, the fact that he shouldn't at all, but he was, he really was. Attracted to Eric, that was. And maybe it was because he was the only person Kyle saw besides his family, maybe that was all. But there was no denying the degree of attraction had increased in the past two weeks. And he hadn't even noticed it until now.

Attraction. That's all it was though. It didn't technically make him gay. No, it didn't at all. It just made him deprived and desperate. Because even if he was gay, he wouldn't want Eric, right? That would be the last person he would want. Isaac, even, before Eric. Well, he could tell his mind that all he wanted, but it was still there and it always would be. That nagging thought he couldn't get rid of, but was so sure had to do with Eric now. So sure that it was the key to something, but not knowing at all what to try and unlock.

Would you listen to that? Contemplating these kinds of things at a time like this. 'A time like this.' His parents used that all the time. 'Now, Kyle, there's no use fighting at a time like this.' 'Be nice to your brother, Kyle, really, at a time like this you can't afford to be so mean.' 'If I were you I wouldn't do that Kyle, not at a time like this.' Kyle remembered that last one vividly, when his temper had caused him to throw a dish across the attic, and he had responded with a normal sort of teenger type thing. "Well thank God you aren't me, because I'd be quite a pansy." He couldn't bring himself to actually swear in front of his parents. You know.

Not at a time like this.

* * *

Some time later, after Eric had left, Kyle woke up to crying. It wasn't entirely unusual. Sometimes his mother would cry, or maybe Isaac. He had gotten used to hearing soft sobs from beyond his own shelter of sheets, but the tears being shed now were a disturbing sound indeed. One that begged for for an audience, and Kyle just simply couldn't ignore the sound.

His mother was sobbing something awful and clinging to his father who looked ravaged. And for a few seconds Kyle stood a few feet away from them, until he realized that Gerald was staring at something, and followed his gaze to one of the beds near the wall. Isaac was laying there, looking more peaceful than Kyle had seen his brother look in one and half months, and he didn't fully realize what that meant.

Didn't want to think about what that meant. There was no noise in the attic except for the loud cries of his mother, her choking for breath and the strangled breathing that Kyle could hear escaping from his own mouth. The entire place felt unearthily cold, and the darkness was only faught with a small lamp in the kitchen area, causing everywhere else to be plagued by a ghastly blue glow.

But it didn't matter because Isaac was just sleeping. And Kyle was overcome with the need to be near his brother. No one objected, no one said a word as he walked towards the bed, but someone tried to when he began to climb into the bed next to Isaac. His brother looked so peaceful, so free, so – just _so. _The sound melted out from behind the scene and there was a fake quiet the developed as quickly as the tears in Kyle's eyes.

Kyle's arms slipped around his brother's lifeless form, and he held Isaac close to him whispering things that meant nothing anymore. 'I love you' didn't mean much when someone's heart wasn't beating after all. But he convinced himself, as he put his hand to Isaac's wrist, he told himself that he felt a pulse, there was still a chance, and he could do something. He was the big brother after all, he was supposed to protect his little brother and he was supposed to die first.

Not Isaac. Not now, not in this place, at least. Because no one would let this happen to an eleven year old boy with that much promise. Only a heartless god would allow for life to be drained out of this fragile frame, so the only solution was that there was some life somewhere and it was only a matter of finding it. And if there was no life, he simply needed a transfusion of the future straight into his veins to get things working again. Because what was Kyle's future without the heartbeat of his brother right along his own? It wasn't a matter of realizing what he had after he had lost it, it was knowing all along what he was blessed with and then having it all ripped away in one fell swoop. And for what? Was this a punishment or a lesson? What did death teach him but the shocking unfairness in a world that was built to be broken?

The sound around him sounded like an ocean. With his eyes closed Kyle almost felt as if he was on the high seas clutching to whatever he could find to stay afloat. And he had accidentally grabbed Isaac, dragged him underneath and now his brother, his amazingly sweet little brother who had only wanted to learn, wasn't breathing. No more words would leave those lips, and his skin was pale and pasty, still slightly sweaty.

"It's alright Isaac, it's alright," Kyle kept whispering, as he pet his brother's mop of messy black hair, a bit too harshly. It was all he could do to keep the tears from falling and all he could do to convince himself that his words were being heard and understood and that maybe that might elicit a response. But there was nothing, and there was never going to be. All those clichés about someone dying were hitting Kyle fast and hard.

When his father ventured towards him, resting a hand on his shoulder and lightly saying his name, Kyle only shrugged away and continued telling Isaac it was going to be alright. Nothing was alright. But a little white lie never hurt anyone, he figured. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, time wasn't a top priority. It was quite some time, though, before his father approached him again.

This time he practically pried Kyle away from Isaac. "Stop it, father!" Kyle bellowed, pushing Gerald away. "Stop! He needs me, alright? He fucking needs me right now." And his father slowly shook his head, and Kyle had pleaded. "Please, father, please, just another minute. He needs me, father, he needs me."And all the voice in his head could do was criticize him. _Look at what you grovel to do now, it's exactly what you deplored to do before. Maybe if you had been more willing then…_

But there was no changing things now. Kyle was sent to the room he now deplored, and he couldn't help but wonder everything there was to think about. Was it his fault? Maybe if he had down this – this – this – and this. And maybe if – if – and if. What about that – and that? Why? Why? Why? He was only eleven, God, only eleven. So Isaac? Why not anyone else, why not someone who had a chance in life, or why not Kyle himself? Why _him_?

* * *

"Do I look gross, Kyle?" Isaac had asked, his hand tracing his facing in the mirror, as his brother stood behind him, using a dirty towel to dry his hair. "I know I look sick, but do I look as gross to you as I do to me?" His fingers slipped down the mirror through a patch of condensation, leaving two dramatic lines on the glass surface.

"Not in the least, my brother," Kyle replied, as he gave Isaac's hair one last vigorous rub with the towel, hoping he had dried it to a decent level. The younger boy had giggled delightfully as the water from his hair splashed onto the mirror. "You've always been quite handsome, and handsome you will remain." He had leaned his head onto Isaac's shoulder, grinning at their differences in features. "Why, look, you could almost be my brother!"

Then Isaac has done the most curious thing Kyle had ever seen him do. The young boy reached out deliberately and put his hand on the reflection of Kyle's cheek in the mirror, then squinted slightly. "You know what I think?" Without an answer, he had continued. "We're more brothers than anyone else in the entire world is. More than people who share blood between them. That's what I think."

"You seem to have read my mind." Although Kyle would admit that Isaac's mind was much more eloquent than his own. "And what I think now is that you should get to bed, sir. So off to dreamland it is." With a careless kiss planted on his brother's head he had left then, the last words said, never to speak again to one of the only people he had left.

* * *

It had been days. There was the mirror _he _had last touched, there on the wall. There were the words _he _had last spoke, there in his mind. Kyle couldn't sleep, couldn't let a moment pass where he didn't think about _him _but not once would he think _his _name. Not wanting to remember what he had lost by thinking about what he had once had. And no one bothered to come help him, no one told him what had been done with _his _body, but he knew that _he _was gone, no longer in the attic.

Hopefully _he _was somewhere sunny, with fresh air and respect no matter who you were. Hopefully that was Heaven, a place where it didn't matter who you were, it only mattered what kind of life you had led. And _he _had been the most innocent person on the face of the planet. Somewhere sunny amongst the stars, that's what Kyle thought that _he _deserved.

It had all happened so quickly. You didn't expect to lose someone that young and not that soon. _He_ hadn't seemed that bad, _he_ hadn't seemed that sick last night. Maybe it had all been an act, maybe _he _had known that it was time. It was something _he _would do to spare them all the pain of _him_ dying and knowing what was going to happen. Kyle doubted that he could handle death so easily. That he could ever accept the end in such a way.

This scared him. This entire situation. His family had once seemed so stable and proud, but now they were huddling in a corner, cowering from the Nazis and sicknesses and disease, and time after time they were being defeated. _His _death was the biggest defeat so far. But this wasn't a war and they weren't soldiers. And as Kyle stared into the mirror he had to wonder if anyone would remember this, if anyone really knew what was going on.

There was a war out there, of course. Bombs were being dropped and rifles fired. But what about the war for survival that was being faught? Kyle couldn't help but think that Isaac would become one of those nameless casualties of this secret war. Silently, quietly, he sat up in bed. No longer would he wait to be crushed by the Nazis, he didn't want to hide in the shadows any longer.

But this was not to be. Not now, not yet. He was overcome by emotion, and Isaac's face, so peaceful, flooded his vision. For the first time, he wept, fat, wet tears streaming down his face and then splashing down his cheeks until they fell to the floor. He was hunched over, clutching his stomach, ready to be sick as he realized, truly realized, that _he _was dead.

And now, part of Kyle felt dead too.

**A/N**: To address…issues? I would just like to say, yes, this is not completely historically accurate. I'm not an expert on the Holocaust, and Wikipedia will only tell me so much. I wasn't there, and you weren't either, so who's to say exactly what happened? I do the best I can to research this stuff, and believe me, I research it. As for Cartman and his character. We know him on the show as an eight to nine year old in respective seasons, and we know him as he is at those ages in the modern state of Colorodo. Here, yes, he's out of character, but as in character as he can be for a sixteen year old who grew up in Germany. Yes, I could have made him exactly like the Cartman we all know and hopefully love, but I chose to have him more grown up, because, let's face it, even he will grow up at some point. This isn't to say that you can't point out inconsistancies. Hell, I love constructive critism, so throw it at me. One thing though, I have dyslexia, and it doesn't take a day off, so there's bound to be mistakes. If anyone is willing to betaread my stuff to check simply for spealling and grammatical errors I would be very happy. Charles Manson – I'm hoping no one is offended at my use of his quote. Ah, another person with a corrupted, but brilliant mind. So, extremely long author's note, but I had a lot to say. Sorry about that. Reviews, as always, make my day.


	5. Death

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: A few people touched on the issue that I didn't dwell on the death enough. Losing faith so easily? No worries, I had this chapter planned and ready, and by the title you may be able to tell that we have chapter here that is vey much devoted to the subject. I wouldn't leave something like that so uncared for. And I know you've been waiting, so here you go, the romance begins in this chapter. You can't rush things like this.  
**Disclaimer**: I really doubt Matt and Trey would ever put Kyle/Cartman together anyway.

**Chapter F****ive**: Death

"_Death, then, being the way and condition of life, we cannot love to live if we cannot bear to die_.**"**

--**William Penn**

Is it any coincidence that the body only gives up when the heart does? Kyle was almost sure his would have given up at some point if things had gone differently. Because after all, he was selfish, and all he could think about was what he wanted. And what he wanted then, for the first few days after Isaac's death, all he wanted, was the same thing for himself. There wasn't any reason. He didn't think he deserved it or that life wasn't worth living at all. It was just that he didn't understand the point in trying to survive in a world that could so quickly take everything away from you.

Why work for everything only to die one day? So all that he did was sleep. That would be the best way to go, in his sleep, just like Isaac had. Poor Sheila had woken up to quite the shock. In her arms was her angelic son on his way to become what he was always meant to be – truly an angel. Gerald had, for once, taken control of the entire situation, and it had been well taken care of.

Kyle would never know exactly what happened to his brother, not the specifics of where he was exactly buried. There were a few facts he would be told later on. The strange, but heart-warming mention that it had been Randall Marsh, the father of Cartman's friend, Stan, who had buried the body. At first Kyle had been dismayed, since he didn't even know the man, but he figured it was the least he could do to trust him. Especially when he heard that his brother was buried properly, in a nameless grave, but in a proper one, which Kyle decided was the best the times could offer.

Yet he knew none of this as he lay in his bed for days in the cool air of the attic. Not knowing what to do, hardly understanding what had happened. Never really understanding why. He could never grasp the concept of why this was all happening, though he thought about it enough. The answer would never come to him, not in his entire lifetime. Which, at this point, he hoped would be rather short.

The problem was his parents. Kyle was fairly certain they were more devestated than he was at this point, and he could barely sleep. All his mother ever did now was cry, and she never got out of bed. Once more, Kyle had a family member he couldn't let himself look at. She looked so dismal, lying in that terrible deathbed, staining the pillows and sheets with her constant stream of tears. The entire time she acted as if no one else was there. Neither Gerald nor Kyle could break her out of this state at times, and it was truly frightening to see his mother act like this.

His father was better, but what was better when compared to someone who wouldn't even speak to her own son? Gerald went through the motions of life. He cooked the food now and got out of bed every morning. But it was almost worse to see him. Every step seemed to remind him that Isaac wouldn't be taking one, and every breath was just a whisper letting him know that some were not so lucky. The newspaper that Liane would sometimes bring up for them would now sit unopened on the table, because the only news he wanted to hear was that this was all a dream.

The problem was that his parents were not dealing with this any more than he was. And the problem with that was that if he cheated his way out of this, he would kill them both and he knew that. It was enough to lose one son, in one night. To be holding him in your arms as you fall asleep and then to wake up to find him missing a pulse. If they lost Kyle so soon, if they lost him at all, he really feared what would happen to them then.

The fear wasn't like his other fears. It wasn't like the way he was scared of the Nazis or his newly developed fear of the dark, what he was certain had played a part in killing Isaac. It wasn't like that. This fear was in his heart, and brought tears to his eyes as he stayed up all night thinking about what he wanted to do and the reprocussions of such things. The other fears were made of terror and this one was made of love. It was a fear made up of it's opposite, and it was in that trait that it found it's strength.

The fact was, he didn't expect his parents to help him now, because it wasn't like he was helping them. They were living in two separate worlds. His parents acted like nothing else was real, it was almost like they were dead already, laying next to each other on the bed, they were already in their grave. Kyle, though, was trapped in something that he felt only death would solve.

Because where was he? What could he do? Who could help him now? He couldn't see the point to anything. Sure he had never been amazingly close to Isaac, he could admit that. But it was his brother, and even if he hadn't been close to him, he knew he should have been. He knew that his little brother was supposed to be his best friend, better than a best friend. They hadn't gotten the chance to grow up and get over all the trials of sibling rivalry. They weren't given that chance, and Kyle wanted that. He wanted to grow close to his brother, laugh about how they had treated each other in childhood. He wanted that so badly, it hurt, because that was what was supposed to happen.

_Not this. _Never this. They weren't supposed to be sitting in an attic, all together but so desperately alone. An eleven-year old boy wasn't supposed to die, that just wasn't right. None of this was right. But it was happening. And so Kyle came to the conclusion that this was life. Nothing was right or wrong, there was no ethical way to living. Everything just happened, and it was alright, because it was meant to happen. And none of this made sense at all, but it was the only thing he could rationalize.

This was happening, and there was nothing he could do. As always, it was meant to be, he was completely powerless. It wasn't like he had ever strived for power or ever even had any. If anyone had ever mentioned him leading something, he would have laughed it off. Once and a while he would get passionate about something, but this was different. Passion had nothing to do with this situation. If anything, he was drained completely of the fervor that could have once made him do anything.

Instead he felt lost, and for what reason? He couldn't deny that sometimes he wished his brother would just go away. That sometimes he wished he wasn't the one who had to be with Isaac all the time. And once…once he had even…

* * *

"Mother, I'm sick of it," Kyle complained in a hushed voice to his mother. He had dragged her to the bathroom, the only place with a inkling of privacy in the attic. He spoke as quietly as he could, but emotions overtook him easily enough, and it was hard to maintain a hushed voice. "Every day when I wake up he's right there and asking to do something with me. I don't have a moment alone anymore, I swear. It's like, every single second he's right there."

"Well, Kyle, what else is he going to do? He doesn't want to be around me and your father all the time. All he has is you, and you have Eric. Ike just needs to be around someone his age, and, like it or not, you're the only one he has," Sheila had replied with a tired look on her face. "I don't know what else to tell you."

"Tell him to stay away from me for a day or two," his voice was nearly pleading at that point. "I just need one minute without him, just a second. Seriously, imagine waking up to your little brother just, God, just always there being completely the most annoying person in the entire world. Can't I just, I don't know, read or something? When Cartman comes upstairs – if he does – then Isaac can hang around with us. Please?"

"Fine, alright, but just for today," his mother responded, looking exasperated. "I don't want this to end up happening every other day. We have to stick together Kyle. This is all we have now. Family." Kyle was barely listening to her words, just smiling at the thought of an Isaac free day, he responded with a nod and then walked out of the bathroom, heading towards his room.

It wasn't a second before he was confronted by his younger brother. "Kyle," Isaac said, excitedly, "I was thinking maybe today we could talk about the Enlightenment. You've been reading those books so it would be kind of cool don't you think?" There was a happiness in his voice that hadn't been there the day before, but Kyle didn't notice. He didn't have the time.

"Not today," Kyle had said, simply. "More important things to do." With that he left Isaac standing in the middle of the attic, the young boy's hands falling limp, a book clattering to the ground. And as much as he tried to hide the tears, he didn't do any better than Kyle had hiding the uncaring tone of his voice.

* * *

And once he hadn't even cared for Isaac at all. Before they had gone into hiding the two had kept up a nice bond as brothers, but nothing like they were supposed to be. Not like brothers were in books or on the radio. They acted as distant friends who just happened to share some blood in their body. Like one of those people who you used to be close to, and were nice to only because they knew way too many things about you and weren't to be trusted.

Kyle was certain what people would tell him. Lies, all of them, but they would all tell him the same things. How he wasn't expected to know this would happen, so it wasn't his fault they had never been close. That Isaac would always been in his heart, and memories would always be fondly remembered in his mind. They would tell him this and none of it would be true, but he would convince himself it was just to feel better about himself.

So where was he now, then? Of course he was sitting on his bed, in the attic, alone. But he was somewhere else, or at least his mind was. Who knew where he was. He didn't even know. Somewhere to forget about everything, even himself. It made sense to him that he didn't exist, or at least it meant he wouldn't have to deal with the fact that _all _of this existed. Maybe that's why people had come up with that idea. Perhaps it wast just because no one wanted to think that all the misfortune in the world actually existed. So they wrote some words down and in the end they gave us the possibility that nothing was real just so that they could close their eyes at the end of the day and feel secure in the fact that – they might not exist, but that meant death didn't either.

It was hard to pretend you didn't exist when you were very consciously aware that someone came to visit you every day. Eric Cartman was different from his parents in that he didn't go away when Kyle didn't acknowledge him. His mother or father would leave in a matter of seconds, not sure what to do, but Cartman would just sit there, a different place sometimes, next to Kyle or on the floor, and he would just _talk_.

* * *

One day had passed. "Alright, so, I was thinking you probably don't want me around." _You thought right. _"But, hey, the Other Two are busy, so I'm forced to talk to you. It's not like I want to or anything." _And why is that? _"I mean, you are a Jew after all, and God knows that's not morally right." _Surprise, surprise. You're being intolerant. _"I'm stuck with you though. How about we just make the best out of this." _The best is impossible by this point. _"What do you say?" _Nothing._ There was a short pause. "Nothing?" _Which is your cue to leave. Exit stage right. Goodbye, have a nice day, week, month, year. Life, even._

But Cartman hadn't left. Much to Kyle surprise, he had chosen to stay. After echoing his thoughts, Cartman had shrugged and sat down on the opposite side of the best, taking one of the pillows into his hand and looking down at it, had sighed. "Look, Kyle, I know it's like, we're not best friends or anything. I treat you like shit on a daily basis, and you just get pissed off and yell. I don't even know if we're really friends." _Not really. _"But, hell, it's not like any of us wanted Isaac to die. I liked the kid a lot. Better than you. He was a good little Jew." _Well don't you like everyone better than me? _"I guess my point is just that I had kind of figured you weren't going to want to talk." _Aren't we smart. _"But I came up here to talk anyway. I don't know why." _Neither do I. _"But I did. And I'll leave you alone if you want me to…do you want me to?"

And then Kyle hadn't known what to do. Because he knew he wasn't supposed to want to talk to someone, and he didn't. Wasn't supposed to want to be around anyone, and he didn't. Except with Cartman it was different. He didn't really mind having him around and hearing his voice. In fact, though it pained him to admit it even to himself, he kind of liked it. All he could do then was look up at the other boy and shake his head, lightly. No words. And Cartman had nodded then reached out as if to touch Kyle for a moment. But then he thought better of it and retracted his hand, standing up.

"Well I'll talk to you tomorrow then." _I wish you would stay._ Kyle didn't speak, so Cartman didn't know and he left. And he finally knew what to unlock.

* * *

That was it and some might say it was a significant event, but Kyle didn't think so. He was pretty sure he had known the entire time anyway. In his heart it had always been a bit obvious, but he had refused to believe it for a second. Because it just wasn't right. But, he remembered, right and wrong didn't matter any more. Once more, at this moment, he sat next to Cartman, and could think about it all he wanted not having to worry about accidentally speaking. His voice box was broken by loss anyway.

_I am…I like…I…you…Eric Cartman. You. _He wasn't sure of how to think of it. It wasn't like he was infatuated with Cartman or in love with him or anything. But it was more than just liking him, he had virtually skipped that stage. And now he fell somewhere into the bottomless pit that was in-between like and love. Why hadn't someone made up a word for this yet? It wasn't awkward since Cartman didn't expect him to speak and kept up an interesting conversation.

At the same time Kyle felt horrible for realizing this now. After all his brother hadn't had the chance to go through this sort of thing. And now Kyle was being thrust right into what should be a happy time in his life, but wasn't in the least. He felt guilty even though he knew he should not feel that way. The feelings that his mind was assigning him were all contradicting. So he remained semi-emotionless.

Also, there was the entire fact that, 'Yes, everyone I am gay' should be coming out of his mouth, but simply wasn't. He figured that coming to terms with this within himself would be enough for the next few days. Years, even. Maybe he would never tell anyone. It seemed the safest bet. Least of his problems, but closest to home, was Cartman himself. Not only would he most like shun Kyle for being a queer, but if he ever found out that Kyle was _attracted _to him? Well, Kyle could only imagine…

Most of all his problem was what had been earlier stated by Cartman. Being Jewish was enough reason for the Nazis to persecute him. Being gay only gave them more reason to come after him. What was the point in telling anyone if all that came out of it was bad things? He wasn't going to give up the only friend he had just to air his skeletons. Because he had decided, grudgingly, that Cartman was his friend. And that Eric was the one he was attracted to. It made it much easier to say that, to separate Eric and Cartman, to rationalize that it was alright, but right now he was listening to Cartman talk, and the other one, that Eric fellow, was quite handsome.

It had been a week. And still Eric came to see him. Later in the day now. It used to be that when he was busy in the afternoon he wouldn't come later in the day, but now he came to see Kyle every day, and stayed later and later. Kyle could admit that it was comforting to listen to someone speak about trivial things, like something amusing on a radio show or how Stan had accidentally left an ice cream container outside and it had all melted. The only response he could offer was a smile or to shake or nod his head when he felt it necessary. And Cartman would just ramble on.

"So then Kenneth is talking about how his father calls him Kenny right? And he's trying to convince us he likes that way better than Kenneth. Well, right, who wouldn't. But with a name like Kenneth…well, how could we not torture him with that?" An exchange of smiles. Kyle's tentative, Cartman's entertained by his own story. "Stan's full name is Stanley, but that's not really too bad. Besides I've known him since I started school. Kenneth doesn't go to school with us, we just hang around with him since he's in the Youth and the neighborhood. Weird kid. Anyway, do you ever eat? I never see you eat." A non-commited sigh and slight shrug, the most response Kyle had give in an entire week.

Of course he ate. But it had to be brought to him by his father. The first few days Gerald had tried to get him to come out and make his own food, but now he just wordlessly set the meal onto the bed next to his son and left, never letting Kyle see how upset he really was. But Kyle always noticed anyway.

"I was just wondering, since, you know, if I asked my mother she would probably make a cake or something. If you wanted," Cartman said nonchalantly. Kyle looked up a bit too quickly and their eyes locked. For a brief second Kyle actually went to say something, but when he opened his mouth he realized that no words came to mind, and he only looked away and nodded. "Tomorrow then."

It was getting late. The only reason Kyle knew was because Cartman's hand lay right near his, and the watch on his wrist told him it was half past nine. Most of the lights in the attic had been turned off. Kyle had taken the table lamp that used to be out in the attic and put it on his dresser. He toyed with the switch for a moment, then turned it off, casting the small excuse for a room into an eerie prelude to darkness. Cartman shifted next to him and Kyle hoped he didn't feel uncomfortable now, but was almost sure that he did.

"Are you going to bed or something?" Cartman asked, as both their eyes adjusted to the darkened surroundings. Kyle could see his fidgeting, grabbing at the sheets on the bed and then letting them go for a second before he did it again. It was almost like he was nervous, but Eric Cartman didn't get nervous.

"No." There was Kyle's voice, found once again. It was completely normal, natural and eaily said. His voice had been waiting there to be used, this time he had just chosen not to use it. He wasn't sure why he chose to speak now, only that it felt appropiate. This time he knew what to say, because it was easy. "It's kind of early, don't you think?" All these words were managed with ease.

But for a few minutes Cartman didn't say anything, and he was staring at Kyle the entire time, and Kyle was staring right back. As if defying him, telling him that, yes, he could have said something at any time throughout the past week. Why hadn't he? Well, why did that matter? He was speaking now, and that was all. "Yesterday I left at nine and you were almost asleep anyway, so I just thought…so you're talking now? You're not just going to stop out of nowhere, right?"

There was a hopeful note to these words, and Kyle thought that maybe, it was possible, Cartman liked talking to him more than he thought. Usually he would have dismissed this, shrugged it off as false hope on his part. This time, though, he realized that, yes, Cartman did like to talk to him. Of course he did. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I won't stop talking to you, I just don't know when I'm going to talk to anyone else."

"Not even your father? What about your mother?" Cartman asked, bewildered. Kyle shook his head to both questions. It wasn't like they were talking to him anyway. He didn't want to talk them either. "None of your other little schoolmates?" Kyle glared at him, and Cartman just laughed at his own joke. "Alright, that was a low blow, but please excuse me, I've been talking to myself for days, I'm a tad bit excited that the Jew is now showing verbal response."

"You're a delight," Kyle said sarcastically, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face. It was good to talk to Cartman, even if he had to hide his feelings. "I don't know though. Ever since I saw Isaac…everything is just different. Seeing him like that was just terrible. I mean, shouldn't I have been the one to die first?" This wasn't something he would say to anyone else, not his parents in the very least. But he was fine with saying it to Cartman.

"Yeah," Cartman said, quietly. "I know – well, I don't know. But my father died a few years ago. Well, he was my stepfather, but I never met my real father, so it doesn't really matter. My point is, when that happened I did the same thing you're doing right now, for a while. I understand it, but you have to get that it's the stupidest thing in the world to do." Kyle looked at him and saw an apologetic face.

"_Stupid?_" Kyle replied, his voice full of disbelief.

"Stupid," Cartman confirmed. For a minute they sat there in silence. "I mean, you are Jewish after all." He looked at Kyle who proceeded to lightly punch his shoulder, and then laugh, _actually laugh_, for the first time in a week and at a put-down to his religion, no less. And while he laughed, it hit him that he shouldn't be happy. He wanted to, but he shouldn't be. So he closed his eyes his tried not the think again. It may be nice to talk, but it opened up doors to emotions Kyle was trying to hide. "Kyle."

Concern wasn't really what filled Eric's voice when he spoke. Because it was Eric, after all that Kyle was leaning against now as he silently cried. It was almost surprise, as if Eric was making sure that it was Kyle who was doing this now. As he cried Kyle kept waiting for him to push him away, tell him to stop crying and how stupid it was. Contrary to his thoughts though, none of this happened. Eric stayed almost motionless, but relaxed after a moment or two.

Then, for some reason, Kyle became acutely aware of Cartman's breathing pattern. And he wasn't sure what to call him anymore, because everything had melded into one and he wanted it all to exist again. They were in synch as they breathed, but Kyle imagined that his heart must be beating faster. He closed his eyes and tried to capture the moment in his mind, because this wasn't going to happen again, he knew.

This was a one time thing. Something that Cartman probably couldn't stand but was allowing just because of the state Kyle was in. Any other time, any other situation and this would not be happening. So he would take this event and hold onto it, because it was the closest he was going to get to what he wanted. It wasn't even romantic at all, it was just pity that was shown now, pity and sorrow.

"You know, it is going to get better," Cartman said, thoughtfully. Like he had really pondered those words and cared about saying them. At least, that's what Kyle convinced himself. As he listened to what Cartman said he couldn't help but disagree, tears falling down his face, only one thought came to mind. It certainly wasn't a comforting thought, but it wouldn't leave him alone, as much as he tried not to think about it.

_It's never going to be better than this._

**A/N**: And that's what you get when I sit down and listen to Mozart while watching SNL, typing away and only taking a break to check Wikipedia on whether people remarried in Germany in the 30's (I say they do, so, fuck off) and doing a twenty minute search on Photobucket for Jimmy Fallon. Hope you kids are happy. Let me know by reviewing, please and thank you. By the way, it's Hitler's birthday. Creepy coincidence? D:


	6. Different

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: Please don't fear. I know I'm going to get some hate for this chapter, even if you don't say it. Cartman is somewhat OOC, you might even go as far as to say totally. Plus, it's short. But, once I have the chapter after this up, the way he acts in this chapter will be aptly explained, I promise and it should be a _lot _longer. So don't get mad, get glad. And please read the note at the end, it's important!

**Chapter ****Six**: Different

"_Imagine what would happen if the nations of the world spent as much on development as on building the machines of war. Imagine a world where every human being would live in freedom and dignity. Imagine a world in which we would shed the same tears when a child dies in Darfur or Vancouver. Imagine a world where we would settle our differences through diplomacy and dialogue and not through bombs or bullets. Imagine if the only nuclear weapons remaining were the relics in our museums. Imagine the legacy we could leave to our children. Imagine that such a world is within our grasp._**"**

--**Mohamed ElBaradei, Nobel Peace Prize Winner, 2005**

They never would have been friends. That much was obvious. Everything about them was contradicting. In fact, in any other situation it was extremely likely that they would have _hated_ each other. Then again, it was completely debatable as to whether they didn't hate each other right now. Oh, certainly, they were close, but that might have only been for lack of anyone else to be close to. And, sure, Kyle had more than platonic feelings towards Cartman at this point. But…well…

That didn't mean he couldn't hate him. Right?

What was the big deal if he disliked almost every attribute about Eric Cartman? There was something about whatever was left over once you picked away every negative. In the end there might not be much left, but it was worth a lot. It was as if he had gone sifting through a pile of trash and found one solitary, tarnished piece of gold that was more beautiful to him that anything he had ever seen and outshone whatever had originally hidden the splendor.

Or maybe he was just turning into a huge faggot. It was likely that he was romanticizing this entire thng. Perhaps this was all just out of a need to have something good happen in these desperate times and this was the best he could do. In his mind this was perfectly plausible. Maybe every word that was running through his very own mind was being perfectly engineered to convince his body that Cartman was the object of his affection simply on the principal that there was no other option.

Because in any other situation Cartman would be the lowest person on the list of people he would consider romantically. In fact, he probably wouldn't even make the list, he wouldn't even be considered. Would any guy even be considered? Before he had cut his social life down to operating out of an attic, had he ever considered the fact that he was gay? The answer was easy, a simple 'no' would suffice. Kyle had never had reason to question his sexuality. Sure, he had never had a girlfriend and maybe he wasn't entirely turned on by the beautiful girls in his classes and on the streets. But since when did that make him gay?

Since always, he now knew. But then he wouldn't have even thought about it before. Eventually he would have come terms with it, one way or another. This just sped up the process. And maybe nothing would come out of it. Yet he couldn't stop liking Cartman now. Every day was met with more and more reasons why he shouldn't like him. Like the day he had shown up in full Hitler Youth attire.

* * *

"I'm pretty sure that it's never…ever, going to be alright if you show up with a swastika anywhere on your clothing," Kyle said, as they sat on his bed. Kyle was looking through one of the photo albums he had, something he had taken to doing often recently. The pictures had a profound effect on him. From making him sad enough to cry, and sometimes even doing so, to causing him to smile when he thought it was impossible.

"Alright, Jesus-not-the-Son-of-God," Cartman said in a mock annoyed voice. "If the Jew says no swastikas, no swastikas it is." And there it was. That perfectly balanced personality that caused Kyle to second-guess himself. Because for one second Cartman would acidly remark on his religion, and then the next he would virtually reliquish the words by saying something in a surprisingly kind tone.

But he couldn't like Cartman. He could accept the fact that he liked guys, but not _this _guy. Kyle's first impression of _this_ guy had been to slap him across the face. And sometimes he still had that urge. That wasn't love, it was just some weird solution to his loneliness that his mind had thought up to temporarily solve his pathetic problems. Desperate times called for desperate measures, but was he really ready to get this desperate?

"It's not just me, it's not really me at all, actually. You did see my father's face didn't you? I mean, it's a good thing my mother is sleeping." Sometimes Kyle was convinced this time in the attic was turning him into a complete wuss.

* * *

It was surprisingly how easily he would defend himself now. The swastika bothered him more than anything. He couldn't even look at Cartman when he wore his Hitler Youth uniform. By now he had a grip on Cartman's personality and understood that, yes, there was a method to his madness. But, when he was wearing his uniform he was just another nameless face that was trying to kill Kyle's family.

This biased vision that Kyle hated to admit he had made him able to understand Cartman even more, although not by much. He could see how Cartman viewed Jewish people, as one simultaneous society that needed to be exterminated. It chilled Kyle to realize that this was how his friend thought and had to wonder what, exactly, he thought of the Brovlofski family in that respect. He even went as far as to ask Not all of his bluntness had been lost during this ordeal.

"Why do you even tolerate us? Or do you at all, Cartman? Because sometimes I doubt that you do. Half the time you're making fun of us, whether you're in your Hitler Youth uniform or not and the other half you seem to not care about who we are or rather what we believe in." This day Cartman was dressed normally, but there was always an air about him that served just as well as his uniform.

"I barely tolerate you. It's for my mother." The boy used his mother as a shield whenever Kyle fired threatening questions at him. Liane had, thus far, proved to be bullet-proof. This time, however, Kyle knew he had penetrated Cartman's protection, There was a look on his face when he spoke that told more than his words did. At the time Kyle took the look as remorse for what he said, and he was partly right.

In retrospect though, that wasn't what the look meant. Though it only briefly showed on Cartman's face and dissapeared without leaving a hint of the emotion it had previously displayed. But even now Kyle would refuse to admit to himself that he had seen it flicker in Cartman's eyes that he more than tolerated the Broflovskis. That he much more than tolerated Kyle.

That was their main difference over everything. "Right. Your mother. Cartman, you honestly need to stop blaming her for this. You're blaming her because you don't want to admit that _maybe _– just maybe, you're okay with being friends with me and being around us. You wouldn't come up here as often as you do if it was a simple matter of your mother forcing you to _tolerate _us."

Kyle could bare all his emotions although he rarely wanted to. They burst out of his mouth in a fury, hurled at their target with truth. "Ay, right, Kyle. I'm just covering up with all of this. I'm secretly in love with you and your entire Jew family. How ever did you figure it out? I try and I try to hide it, but I guess I'm just too obvious. Don't worry, I'll get better at hiding it, don't worry your little Jew head about it."

Cartman hid every single emotion he had. Sometimes behind a flimsy screen of sarcasm and other times it was so well concealed that Kyle almost missed it. He wasn't sure which was more tricky. Distracting him with humor that served to make him happy or elaborately covering it up with a completely different sentiment. "Thanks for taking the burden of worry away from me. You're too kind."

They did this every day. Exchanged remarks between one another that bordered on fighting words, but were kept in check. Ever since the first and only real fight they had shared they hadn't gotten into any physical altercations. They talked in low voices so that Kyle's parents weren't aware of the things being said. They insulted each other on a regular basis and yet, at the end of the day it was as if they were the best of friends.

Every night ended around ten in the evening when Cartman would use the reason of his mother's wrath to leave the attic. All bad things said would be forgotten and he would return the next day for another round. This night, however, was different.

"Tomorrow, my friend Stan wants to meet you," Cartman spoke grudgingly, almost like he was being forced to mention this. He looked angry, for whatever reason, at the prospect of his two friends meeting and Kyle raised his eyebrows at this. "He knows about you only because of…well, he knows about you. And Stan, being the _sweet _guy he is, can hardly contain himself at the idea of meeting an actual Jew. I told he can come to the exhibit as long as he agrees not to feed you."

"Is this Stan Marsh of sounds-just-like-me fame?" Kyle knew of Stan from the numerous times that Cartman had compared the two. They had never met but were apparently too alike for their own good. At least in Cartman's mind. Stan's father had also been the one to bury Ike, but Kyle refused to think of him in this way and pushed the bad feelings that the name evoked into the back of his mind.

"Yeah." Cartman sighed at this and then shrugged, standing up from the bed and walking towards the exit of Kyle's room. For a second he turned around and looked as if he was going to add something, and Kyle almost expected some sort of sincere question to come out of his mouth. But all that he said was, "I guess Stan and I will see you tomorrow, then. Night, Jew."

"Goodnight, Eric." Kyle's reply was rather cold and he wasn't even sure what the reason behind it was. He was immeadiately surprised by the hurt look that fell onto Cartman's face and didn't leave as he turned around and then left the attic. Kyle heard the door shut in the distance and then he fell back onto his pillow.

Maybe he and Cartman weren't so different after all.

_._

**A/N**: There you go. Yes. You're probably angry at this story now. I know it's short, but that's because the second part works better as it's own chapter completely. Don't give up on me just yet, I wouldn't ruin this story by ruining the characters Trey and Matt have so perfectly created for me to play God with. Here's the thing, I need some help. The next chapter would be _devine _if I could write it from Cartman's point of view. But I hate switching POVs, and I know other people hate it too. It would work _so _well, though. So here's the deal. When you leave your review, tell me what you think. You don't even have to review, just let me know if you think it's a good idea through a message, even. You know what I just realized? There's no such thing as a good romance story that doesn't have some set-up. That said, I think the set-up is almost done. Let the romance commence very soon. Review it even if you hate it. Thanks to everyone who reads this story, you're all wonderful.


	7. Jealousy

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: I am quite sorry to anyone who didn't want this to happen. _I _didn't want this to happen. But, for reasons I will privy you to later on, I am changing views in this chapter. It is in the third person, and this will be the _only _chapter to do so. I'm sorry if you aren't happy with this, but my stories write themselves. Admittedly, I feel a bit like I'm cheating here, but I wouldn't be the first writer to do so and I will not be the last. As said before, and as you can probably tell, romance is in the air henceforth. Also, things said in German will be translated if you scroll all the way down. :D And Hitler-Jugend is the formal German name for the Hitler Youth. Damn, I make these ANs wayyyy too long. Sorry.

**Chapter Seven**: Jealousy

"_Where there is no jealousy there is no love._**"  
**--**German proverb**

"Are you going to bed now, darling?" Liane Cartman's voice interrupted her son's thoughts as she caught him walking down the stairs from the attic. Cartman only nodded to his mother and walked towards his bedroom door which was further down the hallway. "Eric…are you alright? You've been spending quite a lot of time up in the attic recently. It almost seems like you prefer it to– "

"No, mother, I don't prefer it to anything. Stan and Kenneth have been busy lately is all. I just go up there out of boredom." This was the story he preserved with everyone – meaning his mother and two friends – that asked him about the situation he was in. Sometimes it was even what he told himself, not wanting to admit that he might possibly enjoy going up to the attic every day.

"Alright, dear. Goodnight." His mother was so unaware of everything around her. She didn't see the dangers of having the Jewish family in the attic, not fully. It was admirable of her to hide them, at least that was what everyone who knew of her act of kindness said. But Liane would smile ignorantly, as if there was no risk in what she was doing. The only reason their house had not been searched by now was the fact that their family was respected by the government. It was only a matter of time though, even if Liane did deny this fact.

Cartman's room was a safe haven from the rest of his house which always felt foreign at this time of night after he left the attic. Outside his window it was pitch black. The form of his neighbor's house was barely visible in the dark of night. He liked it because it reminded him of the attic. But he did not like the attic, not one bit. It was stuffy, cramped, classless and, worst of all, full of Jews.

Above all, his room was clean and new. The attic was a place for memories and his room was a place to make new memories in. Against one wall stood a bookcase full of unread literature. Page after page that his mother and teachers wanted him to peruse, but which sat unread. Some day he would have to take some of them up to Kyle, not to make him happy but because they wouldn't get used anyway. A mahogany desk sat next to the doorway. During school it would be littered with books and papers that Cartman rarely paid any attention. But now, in the summer, it was piling up with everything he didn't know what to do with. He fumbled behind several albums and a small pile of dirty clothing to find his lamp and pulled it out into the open.

Once the light shone over his mess of a room Cartman made his way towards his bed. The bed sat across from his desk, in the left corner of the room. Above the headboard was the now-useless window through which Cartman could hear a car slowly making its way down the road outside of his home. He sat on the edge of his bed and sighed, trying to think about what he was going to do the next day.

Early morning would find him awake and heading to his Hitler-Jugend meeting. He groaned inwardly at the thought of this. Another long string of hours spent listening over and over to different words that all carried the same meaning. Worst of all, tomorrow was they day they would be telling the group who was going to be sent to the HJ training academy come fall. Word was that the HJ leaders had been evaluating them the last few months. Some of the older members who had already attended the school seemed to know who was getting in.

In fact, Cartman was rather worried about this. No one had bothered telling him that the more anti-Semitic he acted – was, he told himself, _was_ – the more likely it was he would be attending the training academy. And, if you were considering this fact, it was all too likely he would be chosen.

Across from where he sat on his bed was the small closet that held clothes and various things he didn't like to think about. On the door of the almost-always closed closet was a full-length mirror. This was one object that Cartman completely despised and yet could not help to look at. A little self torture, anyone? Cartman was in. He tried to avert his eyes from the glassy, reflective surface but he was unable to and, as usual, did not like what he saw.

It was enough that he wasn't physically attractive. His mother always insisted he was, her little angel, after all. Anyone who said otherwise was forced to endure her wrath, and because she had none, he was constantly ridiculed by his friends for his size. Cartman preserved the fact the he was fine with this attribute of his looks and pretended to have an air of indifference on the matter when, in all reality, the words hit him harder than anyone knew.

But that wasn't all that he saw in the mirror. In comparison his weight was nothing to what was really reflected when he locked eyes with his image. He could see every single contradiction of his character when he looked in that mirror and that was the main reason that he avoided it and that he sought it out. It was comforting for him to know that maybe he wasn't what everyone else saw him as. And humbling to know that perhaps that was really all he was. It didn't really matter, he mused as he made a late night trip to the kitchen, no one would ever care about him either way.

* * *

The local community cell that Cartman, Stan and Kenneth belonged to held their weekly meetings at the local public school, the one that Kenneth attended. The private school that the other two attended tolerated the Hitler Youth but did not serve their needs as easily as the government regulated public schools did. Cartman was up mere minutes before he went out the door. Quickly dressing in his uniform and then saying a good-bye to hid mother who would hand him some sort of breakfast supplement as he walked out the door.

This morning it was toast. Just toast, not even buttered. Hardly nutrients enough for the 'growing boy' his mother labeled him as. Stan's house was down the street a bit and Cartman took his time walking there and eating. He didn't dare eat in front of his close friends lest they hold it over his head like the evidence that he stuffed his face. When he reached the front door of the Marsh family home the only proof that he had just eaten was a few recluse crumbs on his collar.

The door opened to reveal Stan's mother, who looked as if she had just woken up herself. "Good morning Frau Marsh," Cartman said in his best polite voice. "Just here so that Stan and I can walk to the Hitler-Jugend meeting together." Most of the parents in the neighborhood were impressed by the upbringing Cartman had gotten by his mother and looked upon him much more kindly than his schoolmates and so-called friends did.

"Hello Eric, he'll be right down if you'll just wait a moment." Sharon Marsh replied. She proceeded to shut the door nearly all the way. Inside could be heard the voices of the family, apparently all eating together. A loud female voice alerted Cartman that Stan's older sister, Shelley, was in her everlasting angry mood. After a few minutes of waiting the door swung open again and with an exasperated, "I know mother!" Stan Marsh joined him in the early morning air.

"I am so tired of going to these meetings," Stan said as they began to walk down the road. "Koehler keeps calling us in at earlier and earlier times. Pretty soon we're just going to be asked to show up at midnight because, hell, then we'll have the _whole _day to be intolerant right there in front of us." Stan was rather passionate about the theory that the Hitler Youth was utterly useless in the Third Reich and only served as a way to manufacture the Nazi Party to perfection.

"Think about it this way. Once we get our job over with and we really do get rid of the Jews we won't have to get up early. It's just an incentive to do our job." There was a swift punch to his shoulder for this remark, but he didn't regret it. It only furthered the idea that he was close-minded jerk and he didn't want Stan or anyone else to think otherwise. Although, he realized, Stan probably knew that his personality faltered at times and was a bit forced. They were together too much, something Cartman had always sworn would never happen.

Stan was always full of questions about everything. Recently 'everything' had been limited to 'Jewish people living in Cartman's attic' which was, surprisingly, a very limited information base. "Tell me again _why _you're insisting that I meet this Kyle kid? Do you really think we're that much alike?" Cartman cringed slightly as he was reminded at the lie he was telling all around.

"Look, it's not _my _idea completely, Stan, he's just a big fag and doesn't want me to tell you that he wants to meet you. He's probably just bored with me, which is all the better, because I'm bored with him too. Which makes you two the _perfect _match." Because Cartman had to face it, he and Kyle were not meant to be. That was a good thing, it wasn't like he wanted the damn Jew anyway.

"Whatever you say, Cartman. But, man, I would not want to be one of the poor bastards who get chosen to go to the training academy. When I turn eighteen I'm getting out of this stupid HJ shit and doing something that actually matters." With Stan it was always resistance group this, bettering his country that. Empty words were constantly falling out of Stan's mouth and Cartman just rolled his eyes at them. "I'm serious. You don't think I'm serious, but I mean it."

"Right and Rosenthal is going to stop being a complete ass to everyone. Not going to happen Stan." There was a glare at the analogy. If anyone was disliked in their Hitler Youth group more than Cartman himself it was Rederich Rosenthal, a boy more obsessed with power and blessed with wealth than he knew what to do with. The only saving grace was that he managed to detract _some _negative attention off of Cartman and onto himself for the insufferable suck-up he was. Rederich was outside of the school when they got there.

"Late as usual, Cartman, Marsh?" The boy was taller than most of them, skinnier than all of them and hauntingly wide-eyed by all interpretations. His black eyes were like coals that ignited only at the thought of power, which came all too often in his tiny brain. Rederich was formidable in looks and in speech, a shoo-in for one of the positions at the training academy. Word had him beating a Jewish citizen at least every other day and conducting raids already.

"No life as always, Rosenthal?" Cartman shot back. There was a rivalry that should be between the boys and it was there, even though Rederich was the only one that felt any real animosity in the situation. With Cartman it was all just a show like much of his life was. Stan snorted at his remark and he considered it a success as they made their way inside to the auditorium.

They weren't late, but were cutting it close. Rederich followed them in but still managed to beat them to Koehler, with a hearty "Good morning Herr Koehler!" Stan and Cartman exchanged a mutual look of disgust yet both greeted their leader with the same words. Herr Koehler was, in the simplest of terms, the epitome of the Aryan race. If Hitler could have hand selected a poster child for his idea of perfection, Stefan Koehler would have his face plastered on the streets of Berlin. He was shorted than Rederich, but weren't they all? Yet he had a commanding presence none of them had yet mastered, with his icy blue eyes and slick blonde hair, a force to be reckoned with.

Kenneth was already present, sitting in the back of the room, having saved two seats for his friends so they could sit together in silence while the meeting was carried on. "Well hello there good sir. How goes gallivanting about the city with your great love?" Cartman asked in a mocking voice as he and Stan joined their blonde-haired friend.

"We don't gallivant about, thank you," Kenneth said with angry look on his face. Cartman thought Kenneth was all too sensitive about his love life, but had to commend him for never being at a loss of words on the matter. "Hili and I are, in fact, quite happy with the prospect of not going out and proclaiming our love to the entire world at the possible risk of her life. I mean, to each their own, but I'm just not one for _that _much excitement."

They were granted a few more moments of casual talking before the meeting formally started with a strict call to order by Herr Koehler. From then on they were silent unless called upon. Things went regularly for much of the meeting. It wasn't until Rederich Rosenthal spoke up with news that he had heard floating around Hannover that things made a sharp turn for the worse.

"I appreciate Herr Koehler giving me the chance to speak today before training. It has come to the attention of several members of the community and henceforth been passed on by word of mouth until I heard of it. The thought of it is quite shocking enough, but to know it's actually happening in our community." Here he paused with a thoughtful shake of the head – also, totally planned out – to emphasize how 'shocking' it really was and then continued. "It seems that in our very own city of Hannover there are German families hiding Jewish families in their home."

There was a rush of feeling through the auditorium. For one, they are had the overwhelming want to call a loud 'oh, really?' to Rederich. Everyone knew what was going on in their city and, as well, all over Germany, even if it wasn't talked about whenever they met. Raids were constantly held to find the families being hidden, although the HJ was rarely, if ever, included in these actions. Yet Rederich brought a good point. None of the raids had thus far been held in their community. No one would dream of such a thing. Cartman knew he wasn't alone in the cold feeling in his stomach. The worry must have been seeping into Kenneth as well.

The feeling was not caused by Rederich's words, but rather by the look that shone in Koehler's eyes at the sight of an opportunity to make a national figure for himself. He quickly pulled Rederich to the side and the two had a heated conversation as Cartman watched with weary eyes. It seemed that the training academy may be the least of his worries. No, he was not worried about the Jew. Kyle was nothing to him. Nothing.

* * *

"Hello Frau Cartman," Stan said in a pleasant voice. The boys had walked home in silence after a grueling day of training. They welcomed the Cartman household as an escape from the hot summer air that had engulfed them in their workouts. Cartman especially basked in the cool air that filled his home and the afternoon snack of Eierkuchen. She had made three and pushed them to take one upstairs to Kyle even though they longed to stay downstairs in the cool air.

"You know, I'd probably be just as fat as you if my mother cooked half as good as yours did," Stan admitted in a somewhat demeaning manner as they ascended up the stairs and towards the door that led to the attic. There was nothing in front of the doors by this point and they entered with no hesitation. "No, no, Herr Broflovski, Stan is a friend of mine," Cartman said as they were greeted with Kyle's father leaving the bathroom area and giving them a shocked look.

"Oh, all right boys, Kyle should be delighted to see you two. He's been complaining all day about how stuffy it is up here. I hope neither of you two find it too bad up here." The man offered them a kind smile that stabbed into Cartman's stomach with a vengeance. The kindness of the Broflovskis only served to remind him that he had no reason to hate them but that he was obligated to by his position in the Hitler-Jugend. He was, after all, to be going to the training academy in the fall along with Rederich. Koehler had pulled the two aside while the others had been in the midst of training and given them the news. He would be over later that night, around six, to deliver the news personally to Cartman's mother.

In a few months Cartman would be learning how to expertly exterminate these people. All the more reason to begin to distance himself and make things less personal. So when he and Stan went into the poor excuse for a room that belonged to Kyle he allowed the other two to hit it off without a word out of his own mouth. He stuffed his face faster than they did and responded half-heartedly when Kyle, for whatever reason, tried to drag him into their conversation.

Truthfully, he was envious. Kyle and Stan only knew each other for a few hours and they were already a much better pair than Kyle and Cartman. Kyle and Stan were meant to best friends and Cartman and Kyle were meant to be enemies. But his mind was conflicting once more as he told himself he shouldn't care because Kyle was filth and fired back at himself, asking why, if that was true, was he getting so jealous of Stan? Why, then, did he have the urge to punch Stan in the face and force him the hell out of the attic and tell him that Kyle was _his _filth and he wanted him, thank you very much, all to himself.

But he didn't say a word as Kyle and Stan, the perfect pair, made easy conversation, falling on no rough patches and even laughing at even intervals. Kyle didn't yell once or get angry and Stan's swastika didn't seem to bother him in the least. Cartman realized it wasn't the symbol that bothered Kyle, but the attitude that he carried along with the red, white and black band on his upper arm that really irked the Jewish boy. With this revelation came a complete silence on his part to the point where Kyle didn't even bother to address him. When it came time for Stan to leave, he did so with an amiable agreement to see each other again sometime shared between the Hitler Youth and the Jew. A quick goodbye was granted to Cartman who didn't say a word and then Stan was gone.

Hours had passed and Cartman hadn't even felt them. It was almost five and he had over an hour before he had to be downstairs, but he dismissed himself before Kyle could say a word to him and made his way downstairs in an emotionless stupor. A lot had lost meaning when he had realized that his self-depricating mannerisms were the cause of all of this. He had not allowed to let himself have Kyle and so he never would have him. But he _did not _want him, he told himself.

The mirror in his room told him otherwise and he couldn't take his eyes off of it until there was a knock at his door when it was nearly six in the evening. Thinking that it must be his mother there to alert him of Herr Koehler's arrival he opened it and was surprised to see Stan, out of breath, leaning over and gasping out words. "They're not – you're not…you've got to get them out of here!"

"What?" Cartman said, barely understanding the words coming from his raven-haired friend. "Slow down and repeat yourself, Stan, you're not making any sense." Stan looked up at him and didn't need to say a word this time. His eyes were much like Cartman's own; they said it all. "Is it Rederich? Does he know?"

"I didn't mean to, Cartman." For the first time Cartman saw the bloody cuts on Stan's upper arm, a ghost of the torment he must have endured when he leaked the location of the Broflovskis to the Hitler Youth. Cartman's normal response of anger was quelled by the sound of Stan's voice, which was wholly filled with fear. "Herr Koehler is coming and I think Rosenthal is with them. I'm _so _fucking sorry."

"Get the fuck out of here before they come, tell my mom and…I don't know, just get the fuck out of the house before they come." Cartman pushed past Stan without thinking about what he was doing and headed straight for the attic. He figured he only had ten minutes at best before the HJ would arrive on his doorstep, or rather burst into his living room. He did the same to his attic.

"Eric, what are you doing here?" Kyle's father looked even more surprised than he had earlier at Cartman's unannounced entrance into the place that the family lived. Cartman faltered. He knew what he should do now. Just leave and let Koehler take them to wherever he wanted. Perhaps they would go to a work camp. They were much less likely to die there.It would be the easy thing to do and he would evade being deemed a traitor if he turned them in.

That was what he should do. To serve his country as a Hitler Youth. That was what he _should _do. "Nazis are coming, you need to come with me. They'll be here very soon and…you need to get out of this house as quickly as you can." The adult's eyes filled with fear and he hurried to the bedside of his wife as Cartman went to Kyle who had been listening not a few fet away. "We need to get out of here, Kyle."

But Kyle was looking at his parents with an incredulous sort of gaze. Cartman followed his stare to where Kyle's mother was shaking her head, lying frail on her bed. Kyle's father stood next to her whispering words that could not be heard, but were interrupted correctly by their son. "She doesn't want to go. He wants her to, but she doesn't want to go." Kyle looked at Cartman in a desperate sort of way as if asking what he should do.

The dillema was answered for him. "Son, your mother doesn't want to leave." Gerald Broflovski's voice was quavering as he thought of what this meant. "And I – I am going to stay with her. But we do agree that you have to go, and quickly." Kyle's face fell into a state of shock as he stared at his father and comprehended these words. "We love you, but we're staying. _Please_, go with Eric and _please _make it out of here. We don't have the spirit left for this, but we know you do."

Cartman left them alone as long as he could, peering out the window for a glimpse of Nazis or a group of Hitler Youth leaders to come marching down the road at any moment. So far he hadn't seen anyone but felt that, after a few moments, the situation was getting all too risky. "Kyle, we have to go _now_." He stressed the last word with a sort of hopeless strength as he watched the father and son say tearful goodbyes and denied himself the right to cry at the scene.

As they descended the stairs for the last time he could hear the redhead sniffling next to him. "Cartman," Kyle began in a soft voice. Suddenly, from the lower level they heard a loud banging noise. The two boys looked at one another in astonishment and Cartman ran into his own room with no thought process going on his mind other than survival. The only place he could think of was his closet and he ushered Kyle inside of the cramped space with him.

They stayed quiet as they listened for what was going on. Shouting voices could be heard and Cartman closed his eyes hoping that Stan and his mother had garnered adequate time to get out of the home. Footsteps rushed up the first flight of stairs and skipped the bedrooms on the second floor altogether and moved right on up to the attic. It was then that the strangest thing happened. Cartman's own hand found Kyle's and they stood in that most unlikely moment, hands entwined, in the small closet, trying their best to make no noise as all they heard were screams from up above.

* * *

The phrase 'on the other hand' is often used to explain an alternating circumstance in which two things are very strong opposites. For example, Cartman was brash and oppinionated, while Stan, on the other hand, was kind and understanding which probably explained why Kyle had found Stan to be much easier to get along with. But, here, 'on the other hand' takes on a much more literal meaning rather than it's usual figurative use.

Cartman's hand was firmly holding onto Kyle's own, not slipping as they listening to all the noise that was filling the Cartman home that evening. There was strength in the larger boy's grip that Kyle would not have guessed he was capable of. Kyle, on the other hand, had a slippery and feeble hold on his companions hand as he tried to force back the tears in his eyes. The sound of his father yelling could be heard and Kyle slumped against the wall of the closet only able to imagine what was going on. After a few moments the voices ceased and slowly they began to hear people moving back down to the second floor.

"Marsh hat gesagt, dass es eine kleine Familie war, zweifle ich, dass es irgendjemand sonst hier Herr Koehler gibt." The voice of a young sounding German came from outside the closet door, sounding much too close for comfort. Kyle cringed at the sound and bit the inside of his cheeks, breathing heavily as he heard the words but barely comprehended them.

"Sie glauben, dass wir einem Freund von Cartman vertrauen können?" There was no verbal response and then the voices dropped too low for Kyle to hear at all and then slowly faded into the distance until the house was completely silent and dark and Kyle felt that he and Cartman, standing alone in the small, dark space, hands clasped together, were the only people left in the entire world.

**Translations**: Frau and Herr are, quite obviously the German equivalent of Mrs. and Mr.  
Eierkuchen is a German dessert that's somewhat like a French Crêpe.  
The conversation of Rederich and Koehler:  
"Marsh said it was a small family, I doubt there's anyone else here Herr Koehler."  
"You believe we can trust a friend of Cartman's?"  
**A/N**: So, why, some of you must be wondering, did I feel the need to make you angry with the POV switch? I did a whole compare and contrast chart on it in my journal, yes, journal, and it works out for me. So bear with me, and don't get too angry. I even switched back to Kyle at the end. Please be kind? And, yes, Hili is not a German name, but she's my best friend and she wanted to be in this story, so there she is, with Kenny. By the way, if you are interested in the subject of teenagers in the time of the Hitler Youth you should watch an excellent movie called _Swing Kids_. Amazing if you can handle some very sad scenes. This begs the question, why am I always advising you people on movies and music? Anyway, review it even if you hate it.


	8. Escape

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: I should let you all know that I basically had an anxiety attack when I posted the last chapter. And I have really bad anxiety, so I freak out about every little detail and can't control that. So…sorry about that. And this chapter was really hard to write, since I wasn't sure where to go from there, but when I figured it out it was so _obvious_. Oh, and don't worry, things will be getting better and worse in their own way. By the way my spell checker is being really uncooperative and so is my dyslexia so very sorry for any typographical errors.  
**Disclaimer**: If I ever do – I mean, when I do – meet Matt and Trey I'm so suggesting they do a Holocaust themed episode. Until then, they play no part in this and probably never will.

**Chapter Eight**: Escape

"_You seek escape from pain. We seek the achievement of happiness. You exist for the sake of avoiding punishment. We exist for the sake of earning rewards. Threats will not make us function; fear is not our incentive. It is not death that we wish to avoid, but life that we wish to live._**"  
**--**Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged**

Kyle must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew Cartman was shaking him awake. "We have to get out of here. I'm tired too, but we have to get out of here." They stumbled out of the closet and then stood for a moment trying to regain use of their legs, almost numb from standing in the small space for some long amount of time that Kyle's brain couldn't quite register. Cartman was already rummaging through his closet and quickly through a tan mess of clothing at Kyle.

"Put it on and don't say a word. I don't want to wear it any more than you do, Jew." Kyle almost glared at Cartman but recognized that this was not a time to be questioning him about his contradictions in recent times and began to don what he soon came to realize was a Hitler Youth uniform. It was the worst feeling in the world know what he was wearing was probably also what the people who had been dragging his parents away had been wearing.

He fitted the band around his upper arm while swallowing a large helping of his own pride. Cartman was already dressed and looking angry with him. "I let you sleep for a few hours, way longer than I should have, Jew, now come on, stop sleepwalking and wake up. We're leaving right now and you have to stop thinking about what happened and concentrate on this until we're out of this house."

The cold-heartedness with with the other boy spoke was chilling to Kyle. How was he supposed to just stop thinking about what had happened? Maybe that would be the right thing to do, but how could Cartman expect him to be able to do it so easily? "Where are we going, then? Can you just tell me that, at least, please?" His voice was more pleading than he had intended, the tears still threatening to push out of his eyes.

"I have a friend who lives just a few blocks away. He's not in the Hitler-Jugend. He's one of the few who was able to stay out of it. I don't really – well, they won't connect the two of us, hopefully, but we'll just stay there for tonight and then get out of there too." Cartman looked rather determined in this line of thinking, still immersed in it as he spoke the words, almost not even speaking to Kyle at all.

"Are you telling me that we're just going to go into hiding? Where are we staying, someone's attic? We're just going to go from house to house, _hiding _from them. Is that right? Maybe I'm hearing you wrong or, somewhere, in my Jewish brain, I'm just not understanding the big concept here." Anger had gripped Kyle fiercely and refused to let go as his voice rose in an undying crescendo of fury at the idea of what they were about to do.

Cartman stopped his words by returning a blow that had been dealt much too long ago. He slapped Kyle across the face with a ferocity Kyle would not have expected at this time. He felt his own mouth fall open and brought his hand up to the stinging skin where he could still feel Cartman's hand despite the fact that it was now in a fist at the other boy's side. "Shut the hell up and don't argue. Fuck yes we're going to hide. I am _not _going to get caught by those bastards and I'm not letting them get you either. Jew or not I'm saving your ass and I don't give a fuck if you like what we're doing or not because we're going to do it.

Kyle did not open his mouth for some time after that. The pain in his cheek was enough of a reason to treat Cartman to silence.

* * *

The gate that led into the Cartman's backyard was usually locked, but this night it swung back and forth, creaking ominously in the late night moonlight. It was the only noise that could be heard in the vicinity of the apparently empty home. No lights shone throughout the house and even though the front door was wide open no sounds came from inside it's perimeter.

Morning would bring questioning and nosy neighbors to the front door, some of whom would peer inside, but none ventured beyond that standard of rude personality. The house was absent of all humanity and no one knew where the family had gone. One of the next door neighbors swore that around dinner the day before she had seen two unfamiliar adults being escorted out of the house and into some sort of military vehicle. No one stated to believe her, but the thought was firm in their minds that _something _had happened the night before. But if the military was involved, who were they to question it?

No one seemed to wonder where Eric Cartman was. The general impression was that he and his mother had been moved by the Nazis in some swiftly executed decision that made no sense. In all reality Eric Cartman had spent the night walking just a few blocks away and was now sleeping in the attic of one of the neighborhood's inhabitants. The best part of all was that it seemed like the last place anyone would guess for him to be.

* * *

"Would you stop staring across the street, Kyle? Someone's going to see us and wonder what the hell we're doing," Cartman hissed as he prepared to sneak into the backyard the house they were going to attempt to hide in. Kyle could not stop staring across the street though. He had told himself they were not going to this street as they had walked, not _this _street, not _now_. But it was that street and it was then.

Across the street stood his house. Still intact and everything. Kyle had somehow imagined it would be destroyed or maybe that it had just happened to disappear. Perhaps someone had moved in and maybe there was a new family behind the closed doors, sleeping now. Maybe they were hiding their own secrets in the attic and maybe they had found something the Broflovski family had thrown away. Perhaps they had kept it or maybe they had thrown is away. In any sense it as a disturbing moment to realize that while _this _was going on families were still functioning normally and people were still living every day.

Whatever the case Kyle did not explain this to Cartman and simply turned around and followed Cartman into the backyard. There were no flowers or sign that this was a well taken care of area. Just a simple space decorated only with fresh, green grass and surrounded by a worn fence. "Who's house is this?" Kyle asked, looking around at the strangely normal area, breaking his vow of silence as he did so.

"You don't know him. So it's not Stan, despite the fact that you're probably hoping that he's the one that's taking us in. That would be too obvious." Cartman's oice had dropped to a whisper and now he pointed to the back door. "It's not locked. Don't ask me why. The Stoch's aren't the smartest bunch of people to ever grace God's green earth. But here we are, nonetheless. Keep fucking quiet and follow me. We're going to have to be quiet."

Kyle nodded in response and watched as Cartman gripped the doorknob and then opened the large wooden door slowly. There was no creaking noise here as they entered into the kitchen. Kyle stopped for a moment realizing why they had to be quiet. Whoever they were going to see obviously had a lot of trust on Cartman's part because Cartman didn't want to wake up whoever else was in the house besides him. And that meant Cartman was trusting this person to not tell the others who lived here and they had to be quiet as to not wake these other people up. For a moment he was grounded by the sheer volume of this task, but then Cartman's hand grabbed his wrist, almost delicately, and they locked eyes.

It wasn't going to be so bad, Kyle realized, as they did so. Cartman might be harsh towards him and demeaning at times, but he meant well. At least, he seemed to mean well. Cartman was risking his life, even if it was by default, now. And as they crept down a strikingly empty hallway and then up stairs to the second floor Kyle knew his heart should be pounding in his chest out of fear, but it was doing so because he realized that he had to tell Cartman how he felt soon.

The first door to the left was apparently the one they needed to enter. Cartman let go of Kyle's wrist then and glanced an apology at him, which Kyle accepted with a shrug. No apology needed, he wouldn't have refused the touch if he had a choice. They pushed open the door and came into a bedroom that was just like the rest of the house. Impeccable, but characterless.

"Eric?!" The voice came in a surprised tone from the bed near the window. A boy who looked to be around Kyle's own age was sitting up in a sleepy way, his blonde hair dishevelled as he surveyed the two people standing in his doorway. His voice was much too loud for the situation. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Butters, be quiet. Look, I need to ask you to do something for us. Just for tonight, alright?" Kyle wanted to ask if that was actually the innocent-looking boy's name or if it was just some sort of haphazard nickname. Either way it didn't seem to make sense. Cartman spoke in authoritative tone that even managed to make Kyle cringe. He seemed have some sort of predisposition to order this boy named Butters around.

"Oh, well, I don't know, Eric," Butters replied in a slightly quieter voice. Kyle could scarcely believe that he wasn't demanding to know who the redhead was or, better yet, why he was in his house. Instead Butters just looked put off by the suggestion. "I mean it depends on what it is, but you know my parents, Eric, I wouldn't want to get in trouble again. Y-you're already not allowed over."

"We need to hide in your attic." Once again Cartman's voice was that of authority.

"M-my attic? There's nothing but boxes and stuff my parents don't like company seeing up there, though. Why would you want to hide up there?" Butters seemed to be missing the big problem with this scenario. He was asking such a simplified version of why they wanted to be there. He was asking why his attic, not why were they hiding. Kyle realized this and Cartman obviously did too and used it to his advantage.

"We need a place to stay for the night, Butters. Just don't tell your parents and we'll leave tomorrow around the same time, alright?" Cartman's voice was undeniably coercive and convincing, but Kyle didn't think that anyone would be foolish enough to comply to his proposal that easily.

"Well, alright Eric, just make sure my parents don't find out alright? I won't tell them anything, but you guys have to be quiet." Kyle looked from Butters to Cartman in utter disbelief. Obviously there was something going on here that Kyle was not privy to and maybe was not meant to know about. Still, this was working out for the best. They had somewhere to stay for one night and one night was better than nothing.

He followed Cartman to the next flight of stares down the hallway. The house was oddly silent, giving off the air that no one lived there. How they managed to make their way into the attic was a mystery even to Kyle. But they were there and suddenly Kyle very much wanted to leave. When they had exited the Cartman house he had been able to stand in the fresh air and really breathe for the first time in months. Maybe he hadn't felt the sun on his skin, but it had been close enough. A truly conscious, alive moment in his life had occurred then when he had realized the importance of the outdoors and just being in the air that surrounded you. Now here he was, back again, in the stuffy air the stuffy air that seemed so stereotypically 'attic' like.

Butters had not been lying when he said his parents put everything up in the attic. Everything that, had it been on the lower levels of the house, would exude the feeling that, yes, someone with a heart did live in this home. There were several paintings and a couple of house plants, long dead. Boxes and boxes piled up in corners and covered in dust. There were windows that you could barey see due to all the items that were in this attic. They somehow found a small space and spent a few minutes pushing some things around to make it large enough to lie down on.

Yet neither one of them could sleep. Whether Cartman wanted to admit it or not he as just as restless as Kyle was. But they both sat there, not looking at one another and letting everything sink in. Because things had gone by much too fast for either of them to feel comfortable about it. Kyle didn't know what Cartman was thinking, but Kyle's thoughts were in a never-ending cycle.

They had gone into hiding. What had that done for them? Isaac had died and thrown his mother into grief, becoming so different from the person she used to be. The death had changed the entire family, torn them apart in a way it shouldn't have. They had been caught and his parents, who were supposed to always be there, had been taken away from him. They had gone into hiding and where was he now? Hiding. Always hiding everything away from everyone. Not even allowed to see the sun or lead a normal life. And why? Because some fuck with power had decided that people of the Jewish faith somehow deserved to be killed simply because of their believes?

He wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe it was because of all of these thoughts suddenly pouring into his mind relentlessly or perhaps it was a select few of them weighing so heavily on his mind that it just broke him. He wasn't even sure if the why mattered by now. By the time he let the tears escape his eyes it was only a matter of trying to keep quiet in vain as he cried right there in front of Eric Cartman. It wasn't the first time and it probably wouldn't be the last.

This time was different though because, it took a minute for Kyle to realize it, but Cartman moved towards him and put his arms around Kyle as he cried. They just sat there like that for God knows how long as Kyle sobbed and Cartman held him until Kyle spoke. "Why in the fuck is this happening, Cartman? Why the fuck is this happening to us?"

"You know, I have the feeling that it has something to do with the fact that you're Jewish…but right now I can't think of why in the hell that matters." The words that Cartman said were about as close to a genuine statement that he would get that night. Kyle accepted them as such and instead of taking them as he usually would – angrily, yelling something back, glaring, moving away – he instead did what he knew he had to do.

"I kind of have the feeling that I love you, Cartman." That was it, because, he figured, he couldn't get much lower than he already was. It would be the only opportunity he had to admit this, he figured, and so he threw away all inhibitions and spoke on impulse now, looking up at Cartman as he spoke and watching the other boy's eyes widen at the words. Cartman didn't get a chance to respond because Kyle didn't give him one, leaning in and kissing him with no hesitation.

Escaping the boundaries of life is rarely something we take the time to do. Life does not have a strict basis of rules, many of them are simply interpreted by people and brought to life in the form of laws. The boundaries of life are the ones we set for our own everyday life, the things you would never consider doing or even think about until it is brought up and even then you just remind yourself to never do _that_. Kyle had never been one to escape those boundaries – or, anything, for that matter.

But he had escaped the attic and avoided being captured by Nazis. He had found his way here, to this new place, if only for a night, and allowed raw tears to escape his tired eyes. And now he had finally escaped the boundaries he had set for himself as he threw caution to the wind and forgot about the consequences of what he was doing. He didn't think about it and maybe that was for the best. When you could die any day and when you came to terms with that fact, that was the real escape.

Kyle figured that if he was going to die soon he might as well profess his love and hope to get something in return. Cartman figured the same thing and responded quietly, returning the kiss and then verbally in a shaky voice that didn't match his words. Whatever was going to happen to them there was a certain relief in finally having each other. "Not bad…for a Jew."

**A/N**: This chapter is basically, well, I don't know if anyone will like it much and frankly, I don't care. There will be two more chapters after this, and then the story will be over. I'm happy with the way I see things playing out but I really can't say if any of you will be. And doesn't the name Butters just sound _so _out of place? Oh well. xD Thanks to everyone who puts up with my madness. Review even if you hate it.


	9. Devil

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: Several people notified me that as Leopold is Butters real name that would have sounded more correct. I realize that and knew that when I posted the last chapter, but…really? Really? Look. I want him to be Butters and you really have no luck changing my mind there. I just...really? You want me to call him _Leopold_? He's Butters to me, sorry. Rederich Rosenthal is ironic, I realize this. So, here's your chapter, kids. Here. I know I update this stuff fast. I write fast but I seriously, for example, spent around five hours working on this chapter. So don't think I throw these things together without thought. Writing is basically my life and that's why I can update so quickly.  
**Disclaimer**: Not mine. I would like it to be mine. But, alas, not mine.

**Chapter Nine**: Devil

"_May you be in heaven a full half hour before the devil knows you're dead._**"  
**--**Irish proverb**

The calm before the storm was intricately crafted to mislead Kyle in a such a way that he would turn a blind eye to all of their problems. His mind became sure that this was some sort of show where things would all turn out well in the end to the benefit of everyone involved. He convinced himself of this and became sure that he and Cartman would make it out of this. Perhaps he had lost everyone else in his life, but he was not going to lose him to this.

Everything would be fixed in the end. That was how these things were supposed to work. The sun was shining so that meant everything was going to be okay. They woke up to small rays of sunlight streaming through the windows of the attic, reaching their sleeping bodies. They had not fallen asleep that way, but the woke up rather close to one another. For the first hour of the day they sat reveling in their escapades of the night before, talking of how they had escaped from Nazis and were now hiding out when in reality they were just two teenagers sitting in an attic.

Neither one of them brought up the subject of their parents. Kyle tried not to think about it and reassured himself that, somehow, his parents were alright. They were hiding somewhere as well and they were safe just as he thought he was. No one was going to get them now, not any of them. The Broflovskis would be together soon and they would not have to hide this time.

For now, though, it was enough to just be them. Kyle and Cartman. Cartman and Kyle. The two that never should have been, but were. Cartman complained more than Kyle would have liked for him to, but he took it in stride, offering alternatives to what Cartman wanted. If he wanted food he got a kiss instead and so on. It seemed to only increase Cartman's appetite, but neither one of them minded much because the discovery of their feelings was so new.

In the calm Kyle finally found himself to be happy. Not completely. He was not completely happy because he was in an attic and his family had been taken away. Losing everything, though, made him appreciate winning this one thing. Just as someone who looses a thousand dollars can glorify winning one. Cartman may have been one dollar, but he was more valuable to Kyle than what he had lost, at least for these fleeting moments.

The calm would have been fine. Kyle could have lived in the attic forever, whispering things to Cartman he had never whispered before and hearing things, though grudgingly in that way that Cartman had, in return that he had never heard more meaning behind. They even echanged those three words that seemed to mean everything to some people. Maybe it was too soon or maybe they both knew it wasn't going to last.

"I love you, Cartman."

"Yeah, well, I love you, too, you stupid Jew."

There was more love behind those words than any Kyle had heard before. It might not make sense to anyone else but he knew that Cartman hid behind his insults to protect himself and if that's what would make him happy then it made Kyle happy as well. The calm would have been find, but it wasn't meant to be and it wasn't long, only an hour into their conscious day, that they were interrupted by the beginnings of the storm.

* * *

Sometimes it can feel like there's not enough air to breathe. Your throat closes up and gasp for some sort of oxygen as well as the reality you want rather than the one that's being played out in front of you. Both are commonalities in existence. You need to breathe and sometimes you need to pretend that things are happening, for the sake of your sanity if nothing else. There are moments where we must concentrate on nothing else. Desperate moments where survival isn't simply based upon luck and health. Sometimes that requires more than a doctor or medicine, more than some sleep or rest. Sometimes it requires something completely different.

When they were interrupted this was one of those moments. Kyle felt his mouth turn dry and mind go blank and he forced himself to pretend it wasn't happening. He forced himself to imagine that this young man in the Hitler Youth uniform wasn't standing there in front of them. Kyle pretended that he wasn't scared senseless and that there was no reason to be anyway.

Because this young man wasn't really standing in front of him and he certainly was not holding a gun. Even if he was there and even if the killing contraption was behind held in his hand it was a fake one anyway. Or it wasn't even loaded with bullets. Perhaps any second he would break into a fit of laughter at the look on the boy's face and tell them this. Then they could spend the rest of the day in the attic.

Anything for this to not be true. _Anything_. Anything to not be caught and to be safe and to, above all, stay together. Maybe the gun was just a precaution. Maybe he was just like Stan and Cartman, maybe the uniform meant nothing to him either. The gun, the swatika, the tan color of his uniform, the cold look in his eyes – none of it was true in Kyle's mind.

_This isn't happening._

Somewhere in the world someone else must have had something worse happening to them. Someone was being tortured or someone was dying. Someone out there was in a worse predicament than he was right that moment. Kyle tried to convince himself of this, shutting his eyes tight as he forced the situation to change in his head. Someone out there had something worse happening, right? Maybe he was wrong about that one. Maybe he was wrong about all of it.

"My, my, _my_." The voice that spoke now was so chilling and _there _that Kyle's eyes shot open at the sound, looking into the malicious eyes of this new man who had intruded on what was supposed to be a new start. They were supposed to be starting new and have some sort of happy ending that had asserted itself into Kyle's mind and made itself known as the only possible thing that could happen. This was not allowed to happen. But it was happening. "What have we here? Eric _Cartman_? With…well, I can only guess. This is their son, isn't it? What's your name, kike?"

"Rederich," Cartman said, in an assertive tone. But it was lost. For once Cartman was at a loss for words and at a loss for what he should do. His eyes had just as much shock in them as Kyle's mind did. Cartman's hand had a steady grip on Kyle's shoulder, a protective gesture that was lost on the Jewish boy's now-blank mind.

The boy, Rederich, Kyle told himself, didn't even flinch at Cartman's voice. Rather a small chuckle came from behind his thin-lipped smile. They were all standing, but Rederich seemed so much taller. Impossibly tall, helped by a few inches of confidence while Kyle and Cartman were stunted by astonishment and, in Kyle's case at least, an unrelenting and unwanted sense of dread.

"Herr Koehler would be dissapointed in you Cartman. I _am _disappointed in you, Cartman, more than you know," Rederich spoke with a scathing mock of respect and Cartman's hold on Kyle's shoulder tightened to a painful one. Kyle could practically feel the skin turning red under the other's boys fingers. "There is no reason why I shouldn't just shoot you right here and now, but I am going to give you a chance, Cartman. I don't _need _to be doing this. You can save your own life and scrape together your dignity if you just get away from the Jew and let me handle this."

_This isn't happening._

Silence was not his friend in these moments. It was a million knives stabbing into his heart as no words were uttered. It was cold ice settling into his mind, making his thoughts chillingly dark. It was a virus that was infiltrating his body and hitting every major organ of his body, stopping his heart beat in a sudden moment that seemed to last forever as they stood there, dead-locked in a wordless battle.

"I'm…not going to do that." Kyle managed to tear his eyes off of the imposing form of Rederich and looked at Cartman. Though the boy's voice was strong-willed and commanding, he didn't look anywhere as near as formidable as his tone gave the impression he should. On the contrary, Cartman rather looked like he was about to collapse. They were staring at a man with intent to kill and bullets to shoot into their skulls after all. How was he supposed to look? Kyle realized that if Cartman looked this way he must look the same, but worse.

"Very well." There was a nonchalant, unnerving edge to the boy who held the gun. As if this as just another day, another assignment. He would do it again the next day and he had done it before. This was a central event in Kyle's story, but just a subplot in Rederich's. "Both of you then. The kike first because you deserve to see him die." Kyle froze, everything froze except for Rederich's arm that moved the gun swiftly to point towards Kyle.

When the trigger was pulled no sound was heard in Kyle's ears. There was a profound calm and then the storm came, unleashed in full force in a chain of events that Kyle's mind didn't understand until they had all elapsed. Cartman's hand was gone from his shoulder and lying on the ground in a matter of seconds. Kyle didn't understand what was going on because he was supposed to be the one on the ground, staring up at the ceiling as death surprised him.

From what he could remember the bullet had been ready to hit him. Perhaps not soundly in the heart, but close enough and he had been ready to slump down in agony, watching a steady stream of blood pour from whatever part of his body the weapon chose to hit. Yet, he wasn't. He was supposed to be gasping for air painfully, as the lead that had been unloaded inside of him shut down his body at an excruciatingly slow pace, leaving his eyes wide open in shock even when he was gone from this world.

The bullet had been ready to hit him but it hadn't. Cartman had, instead, moved with surprising speed and acted as a shield. It was Cartman that now lay in pain on the attic's floor, eyes blinking quickly as a slight pool of blood became visible on the front of his tan jacket. Raggedy breaths escaping his lips, feeble words that Kyle couldn't understand. He didn't understand any of this.

_This isn't happening._

This was happening. But how had this happened? Rederich. Rederich had shot him. Rederich had shot Cartman and now he was going to shoot Kyle dead and not even think about it for the rest of the day. But Rederich was paralyzed. He had not expected this either. And it was in the few split seconds that Rederich did not know what to do that Kyle was able to act. Not in a rational way, of course, but he did something.

"Why did you do that?" He wasn't making any sense as he knocked into Rederich and pushed him up against the wall. The gun fell to the ground, the Hitler Youth not having had a tight enough grip on it, and Rederich stared at him surprise. "Why didn't you just kill me?" He let go of the boy's uniform and backed away, shaking his head. He wasn't making any sense.

_This isn't happening._

"Pick it up!" he yelled, thrusting his hand toward where the gun lay on the wooden floor, a malevolent glint to the weapon that was used to end lives. "Pick it _up_!" he cried again as Rederich stared at him in a cold sense of awe then, slowly, reached down and picked up the item, holding it in his hand carelessly. There was a gargled cough from across the room that alerted Kyle that Cartman was still breathing. But he couldn't live much longer. There wasn't a chance. "Shoot me. Shoot me right _fucking _now if you have any sense in your mind." Kyle had lost all sense in his on mind as he shouted out commands at the aspiring Nazi.

There was a spark of recognition in Rederich's eyes as he realized that death was what Kyle wanted. "Isn't that _precious_," he hissed, little more than a whisper. "You know, I would love nothing more than to kill you right here and now, and watch you suffer. But if there's one thing I hate as much as a goddamn kike it's a _faggot_. Is that what this is?"

"Why do you even care what this is?" Kyle replied, feeling the tears well up in his eyes as he looked across the room at where Cartman lay. "You were going to shoot me and Cartman without much thought at all just a minute ago. So why the hell can't you do it now? You're heartless. What do you care?" Cartman's chest was rising and falling still, but at a slow rate that made Kyle's body shake with fear.

"The point is exactly that, my dear _friend_," Rederich said, the last word instilled with so much spite that Kyle flinched as it was heard by his ears. "I want to see you suffer and I see what this is doing to you. Don't worry about me caring, Jew, because I don't care about you or that fat fuck back there. I'd rather your agony was drawn out over years than take your life in a second." They stood there and Kyle was aghast at the look in Rederich's eyes. There was no compassion, this was truly an act to draw out the pain that he had already caused Kyle. Suddenly, from behind them, came the clattering of footsteps. Kyle turned to see two older men in Nazi uniforms, standing in the attic doorway. "Kike, these are your new escorts. Dietrich and Loewe." The men stood emotionless before them. "He's to be taken to a camp, he's the only Jew here."

_This isn't happening._

Without any ado Kyle's arms were grabbed on each side and he found himself being dragged out of the attic into the darkness of uncertainty that was to become his life. The last thing he saw was Rederich's eyes meeting his own. Cold shock washed over him as he realized what he was looking at, heartless and void of any emotion, they were the eyes of the devil himself.

**A/N**: Take all your problems to someone else. Rederich is truly heartless. I'm really, really, done worrying how people feel about this story because it only causes problems. If you like it I'm happy, if you don't, well, there's always next time. The next chapter is more of an epilogue than anything and will be up at the end of the week. I made some really bad art for you guys who read this. BUT, because my computer is being a total jerk I'll be giving you the artwork in the last chapter because...mycomputerisabitchlikeKyle'smom. :D I don't have a tablet so it's the worst art ever because I use my laptop, but, hey, better than nothing. Review even if you hate it.


	10. Love

**Before The Devil Knows You're Dead**

**A/N**: The last chapter, the final run of the race. Passing the baton onto, who knows, some sort of emotional first person view that I felt suited the mood. What happened to the Broflovskis, other people we met, Kyle. This was largely written before I had even finished the last two chapters with details added and altered to fit the story as it went along. I really hope you can take this chapter and run with it and just be happy that I did research to make it as believable as I can. I'm sorry for taking a while to put up this chapter. Just a note: I don't know what you're expecting for this chapter, but you're probably wrong. You might even get mad at me for what happens to some of the characters. In that case, oh well.  
**Disclaimer**: The offer still stands, Matt and Trey, to give me the rights to South Park. Sadly, I do not, nor will I ever, own it. The undying love for creating this series is directed to them from me. :D

**Chapter Ten**: Love

"_All, everything that I understand –_

I only loved once, but I have come to the conclusion that the one person that I did love was enough for my lifetime. We're supposed to keep seeking out love until our last days, but I found mine at a young age and lost it when I was supposed to, however unfair that might seem. People would often ask me over my lifetime why I had not married and why I did not seem to be pursuing some sort of relationship when it seemed prudent that I should be doing so.

After Eric was shot it didn't matter that I was wearing a Hitler Youth uniform or that I lied about my name. The young man who I soon came to know was named Rederich Rosenthal didn't even need the Star of David to be on my clothing to know who I was. Records had told him that Gerald and Sheila Broflovski had a son named Kyle and only needed my connection with Cartman and to hear my name uttered to justify taking me to Buchenwald.

This was almost an act of kindness if you can believe that. Buchenwald was a labor camp, rather than a death camp. The camp was the one that was widely rumored to be holding many prominent Jewish families, as if Hitler considered status when he chose whether to work you to death or kill you right off the bat. Meaning of social status melted away with the idea that you could recognize someone by looks alone in these places. No one had any hair – shaved to prevent the spreading of lice which could have been prevented if they treated us like human beings – and, you may not realize this, but hair is a very distinguishing feature, especially when everyone is wearing the same thing and have all been reduced to a skeletal state.

I was brought in with several families and a few other people who were alone, but all older than me. There was some sort of process in which we were split by gender and age which doesn't matter. The process doesn't matter because it made no sense to me. I was in a virtual state of shock as things went on around me. I don't remember much of the first months I spent there. The one thing I remember amidst the rare and bland food, overpopulated housing and sounds that signified death is finding my father once more in a place that should have been hopeless.

My mother had died within weeks of imprisonment. I can't say I was surprised at this news, but I was broken by it. Your mother, after all, signifies your childhood and your upbringing. Without her where was I supposed to go? I had lost everything, after all. At that point my heart was only pain. My father reminded me of everything that was now gone. Though I had wanted to leave it so badly I now ached to return to the attic and to see _him _again even if it was with fighting and unsure conversations. I wanted Isaac back so that I could see him laugh once more. I wanted my mother there to take care of us because that's what mothers were meant to do, to shelter us from the horrors of the world. Most of all, though, I wanted to be with _him _again and once again see every emotion on his face.

In much the same way as I was feeling about Cartman, my father seemed to feel about my mother. In that way we could relate on a basic level, if nothing else. We had both had love and lost love, even if he had years with her and I only had months with him. I had never been extremely close to my father, but if Buchenwald did one good thing it brought us together in a way we had never been close before. I think that was what kept us alive.

Often times at night I could not sleep. My tired eyes would flutter closed only to be woken up by dreams that replayed memories on the theater of my mind. Around us, at all times, were so many other people, so many that my sobs went unnoticed from where I lay in the cramped space we lived in. Not a night went by for as long as I can remember that I did not have that dream. An exact replica of the events of that treachorous day. No one ever asked why I would suddenly wake up, choking on my own tears, unable to close my eyes again because of the horror he feared would meet me in sleep, perhaps because so many others did the same thing. If there was one thing that these moments made me realize it was that I was not alone in the dispair I felt in these times.

We spent years at Buchenwald watching the people around us die. The ones who lost their lives had often lost their hope some time before their last breath escaped their mouth. We lost track of time, but we never lost track of hope. Who knows when it was when the bombing happened. It destroyed a large portion of the camp, killing a high number of the prisoners but somehow sparing us from the line of fire.

Miracles were not what I thought of while I was there. When I was being forced to work despite hunger and exhaustion the idea that these experiences were some work of salvation was the last thing on my mind. I viewed the time as torturous and cruel, but now as I think about it that point in time was a pure miracle. The fact that I was even alive by the time I made it to Buchenwald was one and that I stayed alive over the years was a miracle that I took for granted.

From that time I arrived it didn't take long to be given work to do. Time went by and we had become accustomed to the work we were ordered to do by Nazis. It didn't matter what we did, there was always something to do the next day. And after the bombing of a large part of the camp, which was rumored to be fault of the Americans, our workload increased two-fold. When the marches began out of the camp many people thought we were being freed. I don't know what happened to the thousands of people that were taken by the Nazis to go on some sort of march out of the camp.

Over the years many of the Communist prisoners had managed to get a hold of almost one hundred firearms and took the marches as an opportunity to take over the watchtowers and kill the unsuspecting guards that were left. A few days after this incident we were truly liberated by the American army. We had survived the entire ordeal, my father and I. I was told that it was April eleventh, 1945. We had been in the camp for almost four years. We had watched people become sick, watched them be tortured and killed and die from sickness. We had watched families be torn apart and lives ruined.

Now we watched lives begin again and people being reunited. All I had left was my father but I vainly wished that this was not true. That, somehow, Cartman had survived. It seemed this was not to be, no matter how long I stood among soldiers and prisoners escaping their shackles. No matter how long I pretended that I had been freed from the prison and he had been freed from death. Because what was freedom suppose to mean to me without love? I was as much imprisoned in my own heart as I was in the camp. Did it really matter without him?

I had to make it matter. After our release my father and I agreed that we could not stay in a country that had done this to us. No amount of reform made us want to stay at that point. We left for America, to the land of our liberators. My father never married again, never had a chance to. He died a few years later. When we had been freed I was already nineteen years of age and I turned twenty shortly after and before we even reached America. I was twenty-three when my father died and then I was truly alone.

Because I never finished my schooling I didn't have much of a choice for jobs. I had always been unusually bright for my age and that was one of the primary reasons that I got my job. The most important reason was my faith, which I embraced now more than ever. I became a teacher of younger children at the Synagogue in the town we had moved to in the state of Massachusetts. I was something of a student-teacher who would help the teacher out and I also would teach younger children who attended the services offered by the church.

America, though, was not my country and never would be. I was destined to return to Germany and did so at the age of twenty-five. Was I supposed to return to Hannover? I could have gone to any city in the new Germany. It was so completely different now. The country had since been divided up into four separate zones, but, in October of the year last been unified under the name of the German Democratic Republic. Hannover had been bombed largely to ruins during the later parts of the war and, as a result, my childhood was gone from the maps of time in vision only.

The homes that had been built over the wreckage were nicer, newer and much more pleasing to the eye. I wouldn't refute that detail. But Hannover was not the same place that I had lived in for most of my young life. For some this would be a good thing, but part of me felt that the end of that town was an end of part of me. The destruction not only included my own home but also the area a few blocks away, the Cartman, Marsh and Stotch households that I had known.

I bought a home in the section of Hannover that had not been destroyed and, to torture myself, would spend time walking through the new sections of the town, trying to pinpoint where exactly all the places I had ever known in the town were. I would see other people walking and wonder if they were on the same mission. Did they, too, sport numbers on their arm? Were they also looking for memories long lost? And one day I found it, or was almost sure I did. The house didn't look anything like his. But I was _sure _it was the place I had spent most of that summer in. It felt like everything I had wanted to forget and everything that I was trying to remember. I would come back day after day and the feeling wouldn't leave that this home was _his _and _mine. _The feeling was confirmed one afternoon when I stood in front of the home trying to look inconspicuous.

"Kyle Broflovski?" I had turned to see a familiar looking face and even more memorable mess of black hair. It was Stan Marsh, a person I had only known for one day but who was looking at me as if we had been friends for years and who I greeted as such. We spent a few minutes exchanging feelings of surprise that we were both there. And then: "Isn't it weird how you find yourself back here? I don't even live in Hannover anymore and once a week or so I'm walking around here. It's weird how you just _know _where your house used to be. Or, well, where his was."

"So this is really the Cartman house?"

"Not in actuality, obviously, but in theory, yes."

We then stood there for a while in silence. I had been right and I had known I was right, but knowing and confirming are two very different things. Now I knew that his house had been destroyed. All I had to do was rummage through the rubble to find the memories I wanted back and then walk away from my self-created ruins. There was a new house standing before me but all I saw was a house that had been bombed in numerous ways.

"I wonder where he is now," Stan said after a moment.

"He's dead, Stan. Rosenthal killed him after we were found at the Stotch house. I saw it happen."

"You saw him get shot, Kyle."

"How do you know what happened?" There was shock on my part, as Stan spoke with such authority on the matter. As if he had been there. I had seen Cartman fall and I had seen him breathing what I had been sure were his last breaths. It wasn't _possible _that he had lived after that. If looks could kill the malice on Rederich's face would have been enough to make Cartman drop dead right there and if words could do the same I have to wonder if Cartman and I would have ever even met.

"After they caught your parents they tried to find me. I had no choice but to turn myself in. They would have caught me eventually and, well, I'm a coward in that respect, Kyle. I would rather surrender myself than have to face whatever hell I would be given if they had to hunt me down." He cringed as he spoke, as if he was remembering something painful. "Rosenthal told me Cartman was in the hospital and that he was going to be punished. I know what happened to me, so I can only assume the same happened to Cartman, but I'm still standing, aren't I?"

Stan was still standing, but that didn't mean Cartman was. And even if he was, who was to say he was still in Germany at all? I wasn't going to find him by some small chance in the world and even if I went looking, where was I supposed to go? So I faltered there. Perhaps I should have sold my house and become some sort of reckless romantic, searching the world over for lost love. But why should I when I memories a few blocks away and a grip on reality in my new home?

New people were moving into Hannover on a regular basis. It wasn't a big affair as it had been when I was young. A new person in the neighborhood? Just a new person. You didn't even know everyone's name anymore. So I didn't know, not for months, not until Stan told me the second time we met up by chance. He had been looking for me but to no avail. His words were a dream. Nothing in the situation seemed real. Like it was something I had made up in my mind in a feverish, desperate time.

"I'd love to exchange formalities, but there are more pressing matters at hand. Kyle, have you talked to him?" I had no idea what he spoke of but I could only jump to conclusions and be proved right. "Cartman's back."

He lived only a few blocks away, closer to the new section of town but so close to my house that it was literally a shock. He walked with a cane even though he was only twenty-six as I was when we met again. The shot to his chest along with severe damage to his right leg that had been sustained in a rather macabre way, handicapped him to the point where it was painful to walk and even for him to breathe. Even he was surprised to this day that he was still alive. It was some sort of miracle. I couldn't help but think that it wasn't supposed to happen. I was imagining it.

My hands were shaking when I knocked on the door. Stan had led me to his house but had, rightfully, left me alone to see him. There was no answer at first when I knocked, not even a sound in the distance from within in the darkened house and for a moment and I was disheartened, thinking that he wasn't home, never had been home, wasn't even there. But then the door opened and it was him. I knew it was him even if he didn't look exactly the same.

"Jesus Christ, how the hell did you find me, Kyle?" Those were the first words out of his mouth. How very Cartman. No big ado about the situation. Not a tearful recognition towards me like you would expect after watching so many movies. Just a simple surprised statement. But Cartman's eyes had always shown more than his voice could tell in tone. Our eyes met and he saw the tears in mine and pretended there weren't any in his own. It felt like a dream, something I was making up in my own mind. Any moment I would wake up and be in Buchenwald, another long day of labor ahead of me because this was too good to be true. I wasn't allowed to have something this good, I was lucky to be alive. There was no way I was actually standing in this new doorway, looking at Eric Cartman. Yet there I was.

"I don't know, Cartman, but I'm sure as hell glad I did."

* * *

To this day I maintain the fact that I only loved once and will only love one person. I lost Cartman for enough time to come to the conclusion that he was and always will be the only person I have ever been truly in love with. He felt the same way even if he didn't put it into words like I did. I could always tell how he felt.

We never got to live together or do anything regular couples do. Even if we weren't living in the Third Reich, we were living on Earth and no one seemed ready to accept a relationship like ours yet. Stan probably knew what was going on, probably always had, but he never mentioned it. We would sit together in Cartman's house or my own and talk about things. Kenneth had moved away and married the Jewish girl he had been dating years ago. Stan still kept in touch with him and he was apparently doing well. It turned out that Butters had moved to some small town in America and no one really knew what he was doing these days. We would talk about these sorts of light things without much commotion, sometimes falling onto heavy subjects but quickly swerving away from them.

The one thing we talked of at length was Rederich Rosenthal. It was one of the strangest moments of my life, when out of nowhere, Cartman brought him up not a week after our reuniting. I questioned why, after all he done, had he let both of us live? It was obvious now that he had sent me to the camp knowing fully well that he would save Cartman's life or at least attempt to. Cartman attested to blacking out on the attic floor, likely from loss of blood, and waking up in a hospital some time later. The stories he told after that were hard for him to speak out loud.

"When I woke up I had the sense that maybe I was free. Because I had lost so much blood and beacause it caused me breathing problems I was given a reprieve from military duty." Cartman's voice was an odd, stunted and nasally sound now. He was the same person he had always been, but so extremely different at the same time. "I didn't dare even think about returning to Hannover and actually tried to leave Germany. But I was found, they were looking for me and I was labeled as a traitor to the Nazi cause and they tried to force me back into service. I really did have a hard time doing what they asked me to do, but they pretended that I had no reason to complain. Like I had never been shot." From what I could gather they had burned him. It was obvious from the state of his leg that this was what had happened, but he wouldn't directly say what had happened or the circumstances under which things had occured. Much of the events of the years he spent while I was in Buchenwald were withheld, things he might have even been blocking from himself. I can understand why, I kept things to myself about my experiences at the camp for my own reasons and he kept things to himself.

I learned that Cartman's mother had been killed as part of his supposed punishment. There was a haunting change to him that told me this was on his mind constantly. Even when it was just him and I there was a look in his eyes that gave this fact away. Yet, there we were, visiting one another every day. I would go to the Synagogue and Cartman would never go to church, but that was one of the few areas we ever argued about. I wanted him to believe in something, but he only believed in one thing and on that I could agree with him.

He believed in us. In the end that was all we needed. We did not need to be together every minute to know we loved each other. And those words did not need to be exchanged every time we parted. Because in the end the belief that we had in us was enough to let us survive. In the end, we had survived because of each other. People around us had been betrayed, been lost and been forgotten, they had betrayed others, left others behind and forgotten others, but we had always held onto each other, if only in our minds and, ultimately, that love had saved us from a lonely fate.

– _I understand only because I love._**"  
**--**Leo Tolstoy**

**Dedication**: When I was in seventh grade we had a Holocaust survivor from Buchenwald come into my school. When he told us it was 'only' a labor camp you could see people lose interest. Because, at eleven and twelve respectively, we wanted the grisly details. Sickening really, when you think of human nature in that respect. So when I was reading about Buchenwald to write this I felt so much remorse for that day. I can slightly remember him telling us about the march days before they were liberated. I can't imagine how that must have felt, to be saved. In the end I would like to dedicate this story to him. His name was Martin Lowenberg and his entire family died at some point during the Nazi's reign. He has more courage than I could ever hope to have. To live after such a destructive event in history is the most courageous thing I can imagine. He deserves a happy ending so I gave one to Kyle even if it seems unlikely that this would happen.  
**A/N**: If I was historically accurate with no faltering this would _not _have happened, but you know, that's not what I was going for. Why did Rederich keep them alive? I don't know and I don't know if I even want to think about it although I know it's not likely he would do so. I made it a happy ending. I made it commercial. I made it something that I never meant it to be. Cartman was supposed to die. But, as is the point here, love never dies. Thank you to everyone who read this story and made it one that I love. I hope you liked it as well and like how it turned out. This will, more than likely, be the last time I write South Park fanfiction for a while because I feel like I really can't write the characters all that well after this. For the last time, review even if you hate it, because hate is only a coward's alternative to love.


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